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TALBOT  AND  VEMOK-. 


'      # 


A   NOVEL. 


This  is  all  true  att  it  is  strange  ; 
Nay,  it  is  ten  times  true  ;  for  truth  is  truth 
To  the  end  of  reckoning. — SUtuwnfor  Measure. 


I  '.' 


NEW  YORK: 
BAKER   AND    SORIBNER, 

145  NA88AV  8TREKT  AND  36  PARK  RO^. 

^   y  I860. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1850,  by 

BAKER    AND    SCRIBNER, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  the  Southorn 

District  of  New  York. 


C .    W .     BENEDICT, 
Stereotyper 

•iOl  WilUam  St 


PREFACE.. 

The  leading  purpose  of  the  following  story  is  to  illustrate 
the  strength  of  what  is  commonly  called  "  circumstantial  evi- 
dence." 

An  idea  is  prevalent  that  this  sort  of  evidence  is  fallacious, 
and  ought  not  to  be  a  ground  of  conviction.  Many  a  villain 
•*  goes  unwhipt  of  justice,"  through  this  unreasonable  squeam- 
ishness,  since  it  unfortunately  happens  that  this  class  of  men 
are  not  in  the  habit  of  calling  witnesses  to  their  deeds  who  can 
testify  in  so  positive  a  manner,  as  to  satisfy  the  unhealthy 
appetite  that  most  jurors  have  for  what  they  call  "  proof." 
Newspaper  stories,  and  the  florid  declamations  of  lawyers  an 
the  dtfence,  have  excited  men's  imaginations  on  this  subject, 
almost  as  much  as  the  former  cause  has  alarmed  them  with 
the  apprehension  of  being  buried  alive.  Now,  the  fact  is,  that 
both  of  these  occurrences — an  improper  conviction  upon  "  cir- 
cumstantial evidence,"  and  burying  a  living  man  for  dead — are 
equally  rare.     Neither  of  the^i  can  happen  without  great  care- 


PREEACE. 


lessness.  For,  as  there  are  certain  indications  about  a  corpse, 
which  are  absolutely  inconsistent  with  life,  and  without  which 
no  one  of  ordinary  good  sense  would  presume  death  ;  so  there 
is,  in  every  case  of  guilt,  an  inference  from  the  circumstances 
to  the  truth,  which  is  inconsistent  with  the  supposition  of  inno- 
cence, and  upon  which  men  are  perfectly  safe  in  acting.  So, 
likewise,  where  the  guilt  does  not  exist ;  if  you  can  ascertain 
one  fact,  however  unimportant,  in  any  way  connected  with  the 
transaction,  sift  it  well  and  you  will  find  that  it  is  not  con- 
sistent with  the  accusation.  Truth  and  falsehood  never  did, 
nor  can  they  ever  be  made  to  agree ;  no  false  charge  can  be  so 
supported  as  not  to  be  betrayed  by  "  circumstantial  evidence," 
if  well  examined — a  fact  cannot  be  pressed  into  the  same 
service  with  a  lict  without  betraying  the  incongruity.  This  I 
have  attempted  to  illustrate  by  the  part  played  by  the  time  in 
the  trial  of  the  charge  of  forgery — a  charge  as  simply  stated 
and  as  clearly  proven  as  charges  can  be  in  a  court  of  justice. 

The  account  of  the  battle  of  Buena  Vista,  together  with  the 
description  of  the  country  round  Saltillo  and  Monterey — bating 
a  few  unimportant  liberties  with  the  geography — has  been 
written  faithfully  from  memory,  as  far  as  it  goes.  The  course 
of  the  battle,  as  it  was  actually  fought,  I  have  followed  literally, 
with  one  exception  :  the  part  taken  in  the  fight  by  the  Missis- 
sippians  and  the  cavalry,  has  been  wholly  omitted,  because  it 
would  have  been  too  wide  a  departure  from  the  direct  line  of 
the  story  to  visit  the  position  of  either.     Even  as  the  story 


PREFACE. 


now  stands,  if  the  reader  do  not  think  the  fight  dragged  vio- 
lently and  ungracefully  in,  I  shall  not  mart  than  escape  his 
censure. 

Some  of  my  readers  may  object  to  the  sudden  transformation 
I  have  worked  in  Hugh  Manning.  But  I  beg  them  to  recol- 
lect, that  the  change  is,  in  a  great  measure,  only  devtlopmerU ; 
and  there  is  no  hot-bed  so  efiectual  in  forcing  the  growth  of  vege- 
tables, as  is  a  camp  in  bringing  out  men's  characters.  All  who 
are  in  the  least  familiar  with  armies  have  seen  developments  as 
rapid,  in  both  directions,  as  I  have  here  depicted.  And  it  is 
no  meagre  praise  to  our  social  and  political  institutions,  that 
this  development,  when  in  the  right  direction,  at  once  puts  a 
man  in  possession  of  the  place  for  which  God  made  him. 

A  word  in  regard  to  the  scene  of  the  story,  and  I  have  done. 

Notwithstanding  the  complete  silence  of  the  narrative  on  the 
subject,  those  who  are  familiar  with  the  west  will  at  once 
observe  that  I  have  here  attempted  to  portray  western  manners 
and  western  civilization.  If  I  have  succeeded  in  giving  a 
tolerably  clear  idea  of  what  they  are,  my  object  is  gained. 
There  are  many  social  and  individual  traits  here,  which  have 
no  precedent  in  the  east,  presenting  a  wide,  almost  untrodden 
field  for  the  novelist,  and  sown  thick  with  the  seeds  of  mighty 
events.  Let  them  be  cultivated  in  time,  that  their  fruit  may 
not  be  bitter  to  the  taste ! 

May  1,  1850. 


TALBOT    AND   VERNON. 


CHAPTER    I. 

"  Written  down  old  with  all  the  characters  of  age."— Hbioit  IV.,  Pakt  S. 

"  Heat  not  a  furnace  for  your  foe  lo  hot 
That  it  do  singe  yourself.' '—HEwaY  VIII. 

'^  To  stand  recorded  at  their  own  request, 
To  future  days  a  libel  or  a  jest"— Deydcw. 

A  VERY  large  number  of  those  who  engage  in  mercantile 
pursuits  fail  before  their  employment  is  ten  years  old.  To  a 
man  of  energy,  however,  this  is  but  a  small  misfortune,  if  it 
come  before  years  have  deadened  his  enterprise.  It  is  only 
when  one  has  become  accustomed  to  prosperity,  that  adversity 
is  a  real  affliction.  When  a  man  has  youth  and  health,  he  has 
everything,  if  he  will  only  use  his  advantages.  But  to  go 
through  life  surrounded  by  luxuries — to  spend  the  majority  of 
one's  years  in  affluence,  and  then  to  be  called  upon,  in  the 
decline  of  life,  to  endure  privation,  is  a  terrible  misery.  It 
is  doubly  a  misery  ;  for  the  recollection  of  what  he  was,  will 
only  aggravate  what  he  is  ;  and  he  will  fi^id  it  h^i  been  better 
for  him  never  to  have  been  happy. 


8  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


A  broken-spirited  old  man  is  as  lamentable  a  sight  as  is  the 
hale  and  cheerful  a  pleasant  one.  In  time  there  is  no  confpeu- 
sation  for  him,  because,  in  the  brief  span  yet  before  him,  there 
is  no  room  for  hope.  Ponce  de  Leon  unhappily  failed  in  his 
search  for  the  fountain  of  youth  ;  and  no  subsequent  discoverer 
has  ever  succeeded  in  believing  in  its  existence.  The  true 
secret  of  rejuvenescence  is  found  in  the  well-fed  flame  of  hope ; 
but  when  the  best  years  of  one's  life  have  fled,  and  in  the  past 
he  can  find  nothing  but  memories  to  mock  the  present,  the 
fountain  is  too  truly  a  fable  to  him ! 

William  Vernon  was  one  of  these  forsaken  sons  of  fortune. 
He  had  entered  the  mercantile  business  early  in  life,  learned 
little  but  the  routine  of  buying  and  selling,  amassed  a  consider- 
able fortune,  and  began  to  think  of  retiring.  But  habits  had 
grown  upon  him  for  forty  years,  and  he  was  no  more  able 
voluntarily  to  quit  his  old  haunts,  than  he  was  to  exclude 
visions  of  ledgers  and  day-books  from  his  daily  thoughts.  John 
Talbot  had  been  his  partner  for  many  years,  had  grown 
wealthy  with  him,  and  now  cared  for  nothing  but  his  credit  as 
a  merchant.  Actuated  by  the  same  principles,  they  had  both 
lived  single  untib  late  in  life,  when  even  their  prudence  could 
see  no  rashness  in  marriage.  Each  had  been  blessed  with  one 
child — Talbot  with  a  girl,  Vernon  with  a  boy. 

They  dissolved  their  partnership,  and  Vernon  retired.  But 
his  old  habits  were  too  strong  for  him.  The  end  of  another 
year  found  him  again  in  business,  and  engaged  in  a  furious 
lawsuit  with  his  old  partner,  who  claimed  that  by  the  terms  of 
their  dissolution  he  had  transferred  the  "good  will*'  of  the 
concern  to  him.  Upon  the  trial  the  jury  thought  so,  too,  and 
mulcted  Vernon  in  a   large  amount  of  damfiges,     At  a  time 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  9 

peculiarly  inconvenieDt  to  him,  Talbot  pressed  the  collection  of 
the  judgment,  and,  in  consideration  of  old  friendship,  made  it 
cost  Vernon  about  double  the  amount  of  the  verdict.  About 
the  same  time  Vernon's  wife  died,  and  while  he  was  yet  mourn- 
ing this  event,  an  unlucky  turn  in  some  of  his  speculations 
stripped  him  of  half  his  fortune.  He  was  still  a  wealthy  man ; 
but  he  fancied  himself  poor :  if  he  had  not  as  much  as  before, 
he  deemed  he  had  nothing.  He  risked  his  remaining  property 
wildly  and  recklessly,  resolved  to  recover  what  he  had  lost,  or 
lose  that  too.  The  ambition  to  realize  his  threat  **  to  buy  and 
sell  John  Talbot  before  he  died,"  goaded  him  on  continually, 
and,  at  the  end  of  seven  years  from  the  dissolution  of  the  old 
firm  of  "  Talbot  and  Vernon,"  he  found  himself  protested — 
"  divided  out" — ruined. 

In  the  meantime  his  son  had  been  rapidly  growing  up  to 
man's  estate.  His  father's  deficiencies  in  education  had  led 
him  to  take  great  pains  with  the  education  of  his  son.  True, 
he  could  do  little  but  furnish  the  money  ;  but  money  will  buy 
anything,  even  opportunities  for  learning ;  and  unfortunately 
nothing  else  can.  Quick  parts,  and  a  docile  temper,  enabled 
him  to  second,  by  rapid  advancement,  the  good  opinion  his 
teachers  formed  of  him  from  his  handsome  face  and  open  tem- 
per. He  became  a  fine  scholar,  and  a  well-grown  young  man, 
about  the  same  time  ;  and  came  home  from  college,  at  the  age 
of  nineteen,  with  elegant  learning,  fine  literary  taste  and 
acquirements,  and  ambitious  of  becoming  a  great  painter ! 
When  he  talked  to  his  father  he  found  him  broken-spirited  from 
misfortune,  despondent  from  poverty,  querulous  and  peevish 
from  privation. 

The  manliest  mind  cannot  help  building  castles  of  enjoyment 


10  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


or  success  upon  expectations  of  wealth ;  and  the  strongest  heart 
must  be  shaken  by  the  sudden  failure  of  even  such  hopes. 
Allen  Vernon's  mind  was  manly ;  but  he  had  always  been 
accustomed  to  consider  himself  the  heir  of  considerable  wealth ; 
and  upon  this  expectation  he  had  founded  visions  of  elegant 
leisure,  in  which  he  should  not  be  diverted  by  any  sordid  calcu- 
lations from  the  pursuit  of  his  favorite  art.  His  mind  was 
strong  far  beyond  his  years ;  but,  even  to  his  last  term  at  col- 
lege, his  allowance  had  never  been  diminished ;  and  finding  his 
father  in  a  small,  rented  cottage,  with  none  of  the  trappings  of 
affluence  about  him,  was  the  first  notice  he  had  of  his  reverses. 
It  was  a  heavy  blow  to  him,  then — heavier,  because  wholly 
unexpected.  He  must  then  give  up  his  hopes  of  fame — cast 
aside  his  pencil,  and  throw  down  his  easel  !  The  fathomless 
and  ever-changing  sky  might  stretch  out  its  infinite  panorama 
of  glorious  beauties  and  poetic  grandeur,  but  his  eyes  must  be 
fixed  upon  earth  I  And  the  beautiful  and  glowing  earth  might 
unroll  before  him  her  countless  pages  of  waving  fields,  and 
shaded  groves,  and  wimpliug  streams;  but  he  was  not  to  view 
them  with  the  artist's  eye !  His  hands,  which  he  had  hoped 
might  seize  upon,  and  embody  all  these  splendors,  must  now  be 
employed  in  the  gross  and  sensual  strife  for  bread ;  the  eye, 
which  was  made  to  discern  and  glory  in  the  works  of  God, 
must  turn  from  them  to  seek  the  means  of  life ;  and  the  brain- 
full  of  teeming  images  of  beauty  and  grandeur,  must  work  and 
scheme  to  grasp  the  dross  of  earth  I  He  who  has  once  felt, 
and  then  lost  these  aspirations,  may  tell  of  the  dread  void  their 
absence  makes. 

But  we  have  said  his  mind  was  strong  ;  and  so  it  was.  Brief 
time  did  he  give  to  unavailing  regret.     His  conversation  with 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  H 

his  father  liad  disclosed  to  him  the  full  measure  of  his  misfor- 
tunes. The  old  man  was  ruined,  not  only  in  purse — that 
would  not  have  beei}  intolerable — but  he  was  ruined  in  mind, 
broken  in  energy,  bankrupt  in  enterprise,  no  longer  able  to 
make  even  an  effort.  He  had  lost  his  disposition  to  endure 
patiently ;  and  peevishness  had  usurped  the  place  of  energy. 
He  whined  over  his  misfortunes,  as  if  he  had  himself  had  no 
agency  in  producing  them,  and  complained  of  all  the  world  for 
what  was  due  to  his  own  frantic  resentment  and  petty  ambition. 
Even  his  complaints  were  not  energetic;  there  was  nothing 
hearty  in  them ;  and  in  his  lamentations  he  seemed  always  to 
be  on  the  point  of  bursting  into  tears.  If  he  had  any  warm 
feeling  left,  it  was  his  hatred  of  John  Talbot,  his  former  part- 
ner ;  and,  as  the  memory  of  his  vanished  wealth  served  only  to 
aggravate  his  sense  of  present  poverty,  so  the  recollection  of  his 
former  friendship  only  exasperated  his  present  l^tred.  **  To  be 
even  with  him"  was  his  sole  ambition — nay,  it  was  not  even  an 
ambition,  for  it  never  moved  him  to  an  effort  to  effect  his 
object. 

Talbot's  conduct  had  not  been  generous,  it  is  true  ;  but  forty 
years  of  mercantile  life  is  not  the  best  school  for  generosity, 
and  he  had  acted  only  as  most  other  men  would  have  acted  in 
the  same  circumstances — perhaps  not  worse  than  William  Ver- 
non himself  would  have  acted,  had  the  order  been  reversed. 
He  had  asserted  a  legal  right,  and  pursued  it  resolutely  to  its 
limits  ;  and  to  do  him  justice,  he  was  not  conscious  of  having 
done  any  wrong.  He  was  strictly  an  honest  man — nay,  as  the 
world  goes,  he  was  even  an  honorable  man ;  for  he  had  been 
known  to  pay  demands  which  no  law  would  have  supported. 
Some  said,  indeed,  with  an  inuendo  not  uncommon  in  its  kind, 


12  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


that  the  reputation  for  honorable  dealing  would  be  of  more 
profit  to  him,  than  the  amount  he  could  have  withheld.  But 
we  cannot  judge  the  heart  otherwise  than  by  the  tenor  of  the 
actions  ;  and  John  Talbot,  we  repeat,  paid  demands  no  law 
would  support. 

Vernon  hated  Talbot.  But  Talbot  had  been  a  successful 
man,  and  Vernon  was  soured  by  disappointment.  They  had 
been  at  law  together,  too ;  and  if  Burns  was  right  in  giving  as 
a  reason  why  Tarn  0*Shanter  loved  Souter  Johnny,  that 


"^  They  had  been  fou  for  weeks  thegither," 

certainly  we  shall  not  be  far  wrong,  if  we  say  going  to  law 
together  is  quite  as  good  a  reason  why  men  should  hate  each 
other.  Vernon  said  Talbot  was  a  cold-blooded  schemer,  and 
had  neither  honor  nor  good  feeling.  But  Vernon  was  mistaken ; 
for  the  heart  thftt  can  admit  one  pure  affection  has  good  feeling, 
and  John  Talbot  loved  his  daughter. 

It  was  not  because  Cara  was  like  himself  that  he  loved  her ; 
for  two  persons  could  not  be  less  alike.  Cara  was  warm- 
hearted and  a  little  poetical — her  father  was  calculating  and 
matter-of-fact.  She  was  light-spirited  and  volatile — he  was 
staid  and  deliberate.  She  was  full  of  tastes,  fancies,  and  aspi- 
rations, which  he  could  neither  feel  nor  understand.  Her  in- 
tellect was  keen,  quick,  and  elegant — ^his  was  dull,  slow,  and 
massive.  The  tear  of  compassion  came  as  readily  to  her  eye, 
as  the  smile  of  pleasure  to  her  lip,  and  often  each  succeeded 
the  other  so  rapidly  as  even  to  blend  their  signs,  and  give  her 
face  the  indescribable  look  of  mingled  joy  and  grief — his  emo- 
tions were  all  slow  in  their  conception,  and  still  slower  in  their 
action.     She  was  generous,  open,  and  profuse  in  charities,  con- 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  13 


fidences,  and  affections — he  was  precisely  the  opposite  in  every 
respect. 

This  opposition  wa^  still  more  perceptible  in  physical  than 
in  mental  things.  He  was  large,  angular,  and  somewhat  awk- 
ward— slow  in  his  movements,  stately  in  his  manners,  and 
pompous  in  conversation.  She  was  below  the  middle  size,  in- 
deed almost  meriting  the  epithet  petite  ;  and  her  smallness  was 
made  still  more  observable  by  the  perfect  symmetry  of  her 
form.  Her  manners  were  in  keeping  with  her  appearance — 
quick,  light,  airy,  and  imcertain,  floating  about  as  if  borne  by  a 
cloud,  and  shifting  from  point  to  point  as  if  moved  by  a  vari- 
able wind.  Her  laugh  was  low,  musical,  and  light-hearted, 
but  free,  volatile,  and  unrestrained  ;  and  the  tones  of  her  voice 
were  soft  and  full  of  feeling.  Her  face  was  in  perfect  keeping 
with  her  form — ^small  features,  almost  infantile,  and  yet  won- 
derfully full  of  expression.  A  dark  blue  eye  was  shaded  by 
long  silken  lashes — a  small,  straight  nose  gave  character  to  her 
profile  ;  and  a  laughing  mouth,  full  of  white  teeth,  and  wreathed 
in  smiles,  which  took  away  the  decision  of  the  thin  lips,  was 
supported  by  a  round  chin,  which  seemed  to  feel  the  beauty 
of  the  features  above  it.  A  clear,  white  complexion,  slightly 
tinged  with  red,  and  soft,  well-rounded  cheeks,  completed  the 
lower  part  of  the  face,  and  seemed  fit  accompaniments  to  a 
round,  clearly-chiselled  neck,  which  seemed  proud  to  support  a 
head  so  beautiful.  But  it  was  in  the  forehead  where  the  soul 
of  her  countenance  lay,  and  in  the  working  of  the  expressive 
eye  and  brow.  Her  forehead  was  low  and  eminently  feminine ; 
and  yet,  upon  it  seemed  to  sit  the  very  spirit  of  serene  intel- 
lect. It  was  smooth  and  white,  and  no  part  of  it  protruded 
from  the  alabaster  surface ;  yet,  upon  that  surface  seemed  writ- 


14  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


len  all  the  force  and  power  of  a  strong  and  high  mind.  Tlie 
rest  of  the  face  expressed  the  volatile  and  impressible  of  her 
character,  in  all  its  native  girlishness  and  levity  ;  but  the  fore- 
head seemed  to  sit  serene  and  calm  over  and  above  all,  giving 
to  the  eye,  the  lip,  and  the  cheek,  the  charm  of  their  melting 
softness,  and,  at  the  same  time,  redeeming  them  from  the  objec- 
tion of  childishness.  Surmounting  all,  and  blending  with  the 
character  and  colors  of  the  whole,  waved  and  curled  a  luxa- 
riant  mass  of  light  auburn  hair,  hanging  round  her  cheeks, 
tossed  behind  her  ears,  or  falling  in  rich  profusion  over  her 
spotless  neck  and  shoulders. 

The  old  man  loved  this  child — loved  her  with  an  affection 
which  knew  no  change  nor  mixture  of  worldly  or  selfish  dross. 
It  was  impossible  that  there  should  not  be  some  good  in  his 
nature  with  such  a  daughter  ;  it  was  impossible  that  his  heart 
should  wholly  close,  so  long  as  she  fiitted  around  him,  and 
lighted  up  his  home. 

And  did  not  Vernon,  the  unfortunate,  love  his  son  ?  Yes ; 
but  of  what  worth  is  the  love  of  a  fallen  man?  He  was 
nobody  but  "  old  Bill  Vernon" — ^some  even  said  "  poor  old 
Bill;"  and  Talbot  was  "  ^olonel  John  Talbot,"  a  man  of 
wealth  and  substance.  It  is  astonishing  how  rapidly  the  acqui- 
sition of  wealth  promotes  a  man  in  the  military  line  I  How 
soon  a  man  becomes  a  colonel !  A  colonel  is  the  commandant 
of  a  regiment.  A  man  who  can  command  a  regiment  of  men, 
by  what  title  soever,  ought  to  be  called  colonel ;  and  what  rich 
man  cannot  command  at  least  a  regiment  ?  "  Reverse  the 
order,"  old  Vernon  used  to  say,  we  suspect  too  truly,  "  and  I 
would  be  the  colonel  and  he  *•  poor  old  Jack  Talbot." 

Perhaps  he  was  right. 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  16 


Brief  were  the  moments  Allen  gave  to  regret.  He^  soon 
learned  the  full  extent  of  his  father's  ruin,  and  at  once  saw  that 
he  must  do  something  to  assist  him.  For  the  ordinary  pursuits 
of  hfe  he  was  wholly  unfit.  For  mechanical  employments  he 
had  no  preparation ;  and  for  one  of  the  professions  he  had  no 
time  to  study  ;  he  would  have  starved  before  he  was  prepared 
to  enter  life.  Fortunately  he  had,  from  love  of  art,  familiarized 
himself  with  the  mechanical  branches  of  painting,  and  his  vivid 
imagination  and  certain  eye  and  hand  had  enabled  him  to  use 
his  pencil  skilfully  and  successfully.  Not  that  he  had  produced 
any  work  of  great  excellence,  indeed ;  he  was  too  young  for 
this,  and  excellence  in  any  branch  of  human  efiort  requires 
long  study  and  close  application.  But  in  the  works  he  had  pro> 
duced,  laboring  on  them  as  he  did  con  amore,  glimpses  of  ge- 
nius now  and  then  shone  forth,  like  a  ray  of  sunlight  in  one  of 
his  own  sunset  scenes,  and  gave  promise  of  future  eminence 
His  execution  was  rapid — a  common  fault  among  the  youthful — 
but  his  hand  was  certain  and  his  fancies  were  not  confused.  He 
bad  thus  been  able  to  produce  pieces  while  at  College,  where  he 
had  set  up  his  easel,  which  surprised  and  delighted  the  inexpe- 
rienced eyes  of  his  companions.  Several  of  them  had  even 
been  coveted  by  picture-dealers  and  print-sellers ;  but  he  was 
not  in  want  of  money  then,  and  he  declined  tiieir  hesitating  of- 
fers with  something  of  the  pride  of  the  artist.  But  now  he  was 
in  want  of  money,  and  he  bethought  him  of  this  mode  of  ob- 
taining it.  The  more  he  thought  the  more  firmly  was  he  fixed 
in  his  resolution,  to  make  an  art  to  which  he  had  looked  for- 
ward as  the  means  of  fame,  the  means  of  subsistence  also.  He 
was  fit  for  nothing  else,  he  thought,  and  he  was  fit  for  that ; 
hope  whispered  that  the  world  would  one  day  say  so,  too. 


16  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


tie  accordingly  hired  a  small  cottage,  and  into  it  he  and  his 
father,  with  one  old  servant,  went,  and  he  became  a  painter  by 
profession — from  necessity  and  from  choice. 

At  first  he  painted  some  of  the  conceptions  of  his  own  ima- 
gination, often  fanciful,  but  always  beautiful.  But  he  was 
painting  for  bread,  and  those  to  whom  his  works  were  exhibited 
for  sale,  could  not  understand  or  appreciate  either  the  poetry  or 
the  execution.  His  pictures  would  not  sell.  He  next  tried  il- 
lustrating passages  from  the  poets — those  passages  upon  which 
his  imagination  had  dwelt  for  years,  and  which  he  had  always 
longed  adequately  to  embody.  But  those  upon  whom  he  de- 
pended had  sometimes  never  read  the  passage,  sometimes  did 
not  admire  it,  and  pointed  out  other  passages  more  to  their 
taste.  This  began  to  be  serious.  At  last,  he  thought  of  paint- 
ing portraits — daubing  upon  canvas  destined  for  a  nobler  use, 
the  simpering  best-looks  of  rustling  dames  or  romantic  maidens, 
the  sturdy  faces  of  men  who  had  grown  wealthy,  as  they  ex- 
pressed it,  **  by  hard  knocks" — which  "  knocks"  had  knocked 
out  every  vestige  of  interest  or  beauty  from  their  features.  His 
study  became  a  depot  of  canvas,  representing  obstinate  bristles, 
greased  and  violently  brushed  into  shape,  long,  silken  curls  and 
broad  Madonna  plaits,  languishing  blue  eyes  and  romantic  atti- 
tudes, large  hands  thrust  into  small  gloves,  wide  shirt-ruffles 
which  their  owners  seemed  trying  to  thrust  in  with  one  hand, 
literary  ladies  with  books  in  their  hands,  held  so  as  to  enable  the 
artist  to  paint  the  name,  "  Shakspeare,"  or  **  Byron,"  on  the 
back,  white-haired  children,  tricked  out  in  holiday  finery,  to-' 
gether  with  all  the  myriad  disguises  that  vanity  puts  on  while 
"  sitting  for  its  picture." 

He  became  expert  in  catching  likenesses,  the  lowest  talent  of 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  17 


the  painter,  and  was  soon  celebrated  throughout  the  city  a*^  a 
great  artist  1  But  he  knew  the  value  of  this  praise  ;  he  knew 
that  these  daubs  were  infinitely  inferior  to  his  ideal  works,  how- 
ever perfect  a  likeness  he  might  catch ;  and  he  pined  to  be  free ; 
free,  in  the  painter's  meaning,  to  paint  the  glowing  images  in 
his  mind.  He  sent  some  of  his  earlier  works  to  be  exhibited 
in  the  galleries ;  but  they  were  crude  and  unfinished,  and,  be- 
sides, the  artist's  name  was  unknown.  Allen  Vernon  ?  Who 
was  he  ?  The  same  pictures,  with  the  name  of  a  painter  of 
established  reputation,  would  have  commanded  any  amount  of 
money— -and  it  was  money  that  he  needed.  His  pictures  hung 
in  silence  and  neglect — they  would  not  sell — they  would  not 
even  command  praise — and  if  they  did,  praise  could  not  satisfy 
hunger,  or  appease  an  importunate  creditor.  He  withdrew 
them  and  betook  himself  with  redoubled  assiduity  to  the  simper 
and  the  dignity  of  his  portrait  customers.  Sometimes,  though 
but  seldom,  he  would  let  his  fancy  loose,  and  revelling  solitary, 
like  the  miser  counting  his  hoard,  over  some  grand  landscape  or 
glorious  sunset,  he  would  concentrate  all  the  power  and  fervor 
of  a  long-restrained  thirst  upon  the  conception  of  his  secret 
thought.  At  such  times  no  one  had  access  to  him  ;  he  feasted 
alone.  At  first  his  studio  had  never  been  shut  to  his  father ; 
but  the  old  man  saw  him  painting  a  gorgeous  sunset,  when  the 
molten  gold  was  streaming  in  among  a  ragged  mass  of  blood- 
red  clouds — when  the  very  air  seemed  to  be  full  of  softened  co- 
lor, and  the  sunlight  faded,  dying  out  towards  the  zenith,  into  a 
dull  blue,  like  the  sea  upon  a  shallow  bed  before  a  storm.  The 
old  man  asked  him  **  whether  he  had  not  better  be  painting 
Miss  Jemima  Smith's  portrait,  which  he  had  promised  should 
be  hung  up  in  her  room  by  the  time  her  dearest  friend,  Miss 


IS  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


Angelina  Jones,  should  return  from  boarding  school;"  and  from 
that  day  the  old  man  never  saw  the  inside  of  his  son's  sanclum, 
except  when  he  was  painting  some  common-place  portrait. 

But  he  finished  the  sunset,  and  he  thought  correctly  that  it 
was  his  best  work.  It  was  only  a  sunset — no  trumpery  ruin, 
to  cut  up  the  radiance  and  divide  the  interest ;  no  impassable 
crags  to  intercept  the  light,  for  which  the  piled-up  clouds  were 
waiting;  no  outlandish  tree  or  rock,  like  a  clothes-rack  on 
which  to  hang  the  painter's  colors ;  no  visionary  sea,  whose 
waves  seemed  to  be  "  laying  themselves  out,"  like  a  coquette, 
to  catch  the  glance  of  the  sun — no,  not  even  a  black  thunder- 
cloud, dragged  into  the  scene,  "  by  the  head  and  shoulders," 
like  the  clap-trap  of  a  country  theatre,  to  manufocture  light- 
ning— none  of  this ;  but  a  calm,  serene  sunset,  with  no  promi- 
nent foreground,  where  the  sun  was  going  down  behind  the 
wavy  horizon,  attended  by  a  thousand  glorious  shapes  of  even- 
ing cloud,  peaceful  and  beautiful — whose  sharp  and  cragged 
edges  were  bordered  with  gold  and  purple,  and  tirhose  bodies 
were  penetrated,  pervaded,  illumined,  with  all  the  splendor  of 
day's  most  glorious  and  mellow  radiance.  Thrown  here  and 
there,  like  jewelled  islands  in  a  sea  of  amethyst,  were  small 
points  of  shinmg  vapor,  floating  before  the  eyes  and  rejoicing 
in  the  sunlight.  Far  up  the  sky  the  beams  were  cast  in  ever- 
widening  circles,  and  ever-decreasing  brightness — until  at  the 
zenith  they  faded  away,  faded  gradually,  slowly  away,  among 
the  deepening  shadows. 

Weeks,  months,  almost,  years,  did  he  spend  upon  this  piece- 
touching  and  pondering — then  touching  again — every  stroke  of 
the  pencil  adding  some  new  splendor,  deepening  some  former 
beam,  or  illumining  some  new  point  of  filmy  vapor,  until  the 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  19 


picture  became  one  fiery  sea  of  light,  gorgeously,  almost  pain- 
fully, beautiful.  He  loved  this  work,  loved  it  as  a  child  upon 
which  he  had  expended  the  best  faculties  of  his  mind, 
which  he  had  reared  and  educated  and  immortalized.  But  its 
face  was  always  turned  to  the  wall ;  he  could  not  bear  to  hear 
it  talked  of  by  those  who  understood  it  not,  who  could  not  con- 
ceive the  travail  of  his  soul  necessary  to  its  production.  Once 
only  it  was  accidentally  turned  out  while  his  studio  was  open  to 
visitors. 

He  had  now  been  engaged  in  portrait  painting  near  four 
years,  and  his  art  was  becoming  a  lucrative  one.     He  had  pur- 
chased the  cottage  which  he  had  at  first  hired ;  owing  no  man, 
and,  daily  becoming  the  creditor  of  the  wealthy  and  respectable, 
he  seemed  to  be  a  prosperous  man.     Seemed  to  be  !     Let  him, 
who  has  been  forced  into  an  uncongenial,  distasteful  profession 
for  mere  subsistence,  answer,  whether  his  prosperity  was  likely 
to  be  more  than  seeming  !     But  he  was  what  is  called  a  "  thriv- 
ing man,''  and  began  to  be  talked  about.     His  pictures  were 
fashionable,  and  in  demand ;  he  had  painted  half  the  young  la- 
dies in  the  city,  and  was  beginning  on  the  other  half.     He  had 
never  ceased  to  hope — what  artist  does  ? — that  he  would  one 
day  be  able  to  take  a  rank  among  great  painters  ;  but  now  his 
hopes  seemed  to  be   on  the  point  of  realization.     He  had  a 
home,  it  was  neatly  embellished,  comfortably  arranged,  and  his 
art  was  becoming  a  source  of  considerable  profit. 

One  day  he  stepped  out  of  his  studio  for  a  few  minutes,  for 
some  purpose,  leaving  it  open.  When  he  returned  it  was  not 
untenanted. 


CHAPTER   II. 

"And  ne'er  did  Grecian  chisel  trace 
A  nymph,  a  naiad,  or  a  grace. 
Of  finer  form  or  lovelier  face.*'— Ladt  of  the  Lass. 

"  Her  voice  wa«  ever  aoft, 
Gentle  and  low— an  excellent  thing  in  woman.— Lbak. 

"  Colonel"  John  Talbot  had  heard  of  young  Vernon's 
fame,  and  had  seen  a  great  number  of  his  portraits.  "  Colonel" 
John  Talbot  was,  also,  a  wealthy  man,  who  had  acquired  his 
wealth  as  a  merchant,  having  risen  from  very  humble  circum- 
stances. He  was,  therefore,  fond  of  display  when  it  did  not 
cost  much,  and  anxious  to  keep  strictly  within  the  limits  pre- 
scribed by  the  fashion.  He  felt  something  like  an  intruder,  and 
shrank  from  singularity  as  if  to  escape  detection.  He  was 
moreover  justly  proud  of  his  daughter's  beauty,  and  wished  to 
have  her  portrait  by  a  competent,  as  well  as  a  "  fashionable," 
artist.  Allen  Vernon  combined  these  advantages ;  but  Allen 
Vernon  was  the  son  of  "  old  Bill  Vernon,"  his  quondam  partner 
and  now  bitter  enemy.  It  is  true,  this  need  not  prevent  him 
from  availing  himself  of  his  skill— on  the  contrary,  to  make 
him  paint  the  portrait  of  his  enemy's  daughter,  was  a  sort  of 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  21 


triumph  ;  and,  after  due  deliberation,  it  was  decided  that  Cara 
Talbot's  portrait  was  to  be  painted  by  Allen  Vernon. 

But  a  difficulty  arose.  John  Talbot  could  not  go  where  he 
would  be  likely  to  meet  his  enemy,  and  Cara  could  not  go 
alone.  Happily,  however,  (or  unhappily  as  the  future  may 
show,)  this  difficulty  was  surmounted  by  the  courteous  offer  of 
Morris  Thorpe,  Esq.,  a  dashing  young  lawyer  and  a  favorite 
suitor,  (favored,  at  least,  by  the  **  Colonel,'*)  to  attend  her  to 
the  painter's  studio.  To  gratify  her  father,  as  much  as  for  any 
other  reason,  (for  she  knew  he  wished  her  to  marry  a  lawyer, 
generally,  and  this  lawyer  in  particular,)  Cara  accepted  the 
convoy,  and  a  day  was  fixed  for  their  visit  to  the  "  handsome 
young  painter."  It  was  the  day  of  which  we  spoke  at  the 
close  of  Chapter  I ,  and  they  entered  the  open  studio  while  he 
was  out. 

When  he  returned,  he  found  them  standing  in  front  of  liis 
"  Sunset,"  which  was  by  accident  left  exposed.  Allen  noticed 
only  that  his  work  was  being  profaned  by  strange  eyes ;  and, 
without  noticing  who  or  what  manner  of  persons  the  strangers 
were,  he  passed  hastily  before  them  and  turned  the  picture  to 
the  wall. 

"  You  are  cruel,  sir,"  said  Cara,  in  her  softest  tones  ;  *«  one 
who  can  paint  such  a  picture  as  that,  ought  not  to  be  selfish." 

He  gazed  at  her  a  moment  as  if  lost  in  thought,  and  then 
restored  the  picture  to  its  former  position. 

"  You  can  appreciate  it,"  said  he  gently ;  **  I  turned  it  away 
because  I  thought  you  one  of  the  crowd,  who  look  at  pictures 
only  to  see  resemblances." 

"  Is  not  resemblance  the  chief  excellence  of  a  picture,  then  ?" 
she  asked. 


22  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


<•  By  no  means,"  he  replied  hastily ;  "  on  the  contrary,  one  of 
the  meanest  of  the  artist's  talents,  is  that  for  faithful  copying." 

**  And  yet,"  said  Thorpe,  a  tall,  handsome,  but  dark,  man  of 
some  twenty-six  or  seven,  "your  fame  I  believe  rests  more, 
perhaps  altogether,  upon  your  portraits,  instead  of  upon  such 
conceptions  as  that." 

"  True,"  said  Vernon  ;  "  because  that  is  a  combination  of  the 
beauties  of  a  natural  sunset,  which  we  seldom  see,  and  which 
the  majority  of  people  would  not  notice,  if  it  occurred  every 
day.  A  face  is  an  obvious  point  of  comparison,— obvious  to 
the  most  obtuse — constantly  before  us,  and  not  like  that  combi- 
nation of  color,  evanescent  as  gorgeous." 

"  That  is  a  glorious  conception,"  said  Cara  in  a  low  voice ; 
"  and  why  do  you  not  paint  such  things  instead  of  portraits, 
Mr.  Vernon  ?" 

"  They  would  not  sell,"  said  Allen,  smiling,  "  and  I  paint  for 
bread." 

She  gazed  at  him  hesitatingly.  "  Might  I  request — "  she 
stopped  as  if  embarrassed  how  to  proceed. 

"  Request  is  not  the  word,"  said  Vernon  smiling  again, 
though  somewhat  bitterly,  "  orders  are  what  I  receive." 

"  Well,"  said  she,  recovering  herself  and  smiling  in  her  turn, 
"  might  I  order  a  picture  painted  like  that,  from  fancy  ?" 

**  You  would  have  to  wait  too  long,  I  fear,"  said  Allen ; 
"  that  picture  has  been  under  my  hand  near  two  years." 

"O,"  said  she,  laughing,  "I'm  only  sixteen,  and  I  can  wait." 

"  Can  you,  indeed,"  he  asked  earnestly,  "  and  will  you?" 

"  Certainly  I  can,"  she  replied  seriously,  even  thoughtfully, 
"and  I  will." 

"  To  whom  shall  I  send  it,  when  finished  ?"  he  asked. 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  23 

"  True,"  she  exclaimed  and  laughed  merrily,  "  here  have  we 
heen  talking  half  an  hour,  and  yet  we  have  not  been  introduced. 
What  a  terrible  impropriety  Miss  Carlin  would  think  that  I" 

"  Miss  Carlin  V*  said  Allen,  "  who  is  she  ?*' 

«•  My  governess — Cara  Talbot's  governess.*' 

Allen  started.  "  Cara  Talbot  ?"  said  he ;  "  daughter  of 
Colonel  Talbot?" 

•*  The  same,"  she  answered ;  **  and  this  gentleman,  who 
ought  to  be  introducing,  instead  of  being  introduced  by  me,  is 
Mr.  Thorpe." 

The  latter  smiled,  and  shook  Allen  by  the  hand. 

"  You  must  pardon  my  absence,"  said  he  ;  "I  was  so  ab- 
sorbed by  that  picture  that  I  forgot  all  around  me." 

"  I  would  be  churlish,  indeed,"  said  Allen,  "  not  to  accept 
that  apology." 

"  Because,"  rejoined  Thorpe,  "  it  has  the  rare  merit  of  truth." 

"  You  admire  it,  too,  then  ?"  said  Vernon. 

"  I  do,  indeed,  and  cannot  help  wondering  with  Miss  Talbot, 
that  you  ever  paint  portraits  at  all." 

"  I  hope  I  shall  not  be  obliged  to  do  so  long,"  said  Allen. 

"  That  reminds  me  of  our  mission,"  said  Cara  ;  "  my  father 
says,  Mr.  Yernon«  that  I  must  be  painted,  and  I  have  come  to 
yon  to  have  it  done." 

"  Your  face  does  n't  need  it,"  said  he,  smiling. 

"  You  do  not  mean  that  it  is  already  painted  ?"  she  asked, 
archly. 

"  O I  no  indeed  !"  he  exclaimed.  "  But,"  he  added,  "  I  shall 
paint  your  picture  with  more  pleasure  than  I  usually  have  in 
such  things." 

"  Why  so,"  she  asked. 


24  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


**  You  ought  not  to  ask  me  that,"  he  replied. 
**  Well,"  said  she,  **  I  suppose  I  understand  you ;  everybody 
says  such  things  td  me  ;  Jjut,  do  you  know,  I  believe  ytm  are 


serious." 


<'  I  am,  indeed !"  he  said  in  a  low  tone.  She  gazed  earnestly 
into  his  face,  as  if  about  to  ask  his  meaning ;  butyPhorpe  had 
too  much  interest  in  Cara,  and  was  withal  too  sharp-sighted  to 
allow  this  to  go  on,  and  he  interposed. 

"  It  is  growing  late,  Miss  Cara,"  he  said  ;  "  too  late,  I  sup- 
pose, to  take  a  sitting  to-day."     He  looked  at  Allen. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  latter ;  "  but  to-morrow  I  shall  be  disen- 
gaged, and  we  can  begin  then." 

"  At  what  hour  shall  I  come  ?"  asked  Cara. 

"  At  any  hour  you  please — I  shall  be  at  your  service." 

After  some  discussion  about  the  costume,  &c.,  his  guests 
took  their  leave  and  drove  away,  leaving  the  young  painter  to 
think  long  and  earnestly  of  the  vision  of  loveliness  just  flitted 
before  him.  He  sat  for  some  time  without  moving  or  taking 
his  eyes  from  the  picture  ;  but  it  was  evident  from  the  vacancy 
of  his  gaze,  that  he  saw  nothing  around  him.  He  was  not  in 
love ;  it  was  rather  too  soon  for  that.  But  he  had  seen  ano- 
ther page  of  human  existence — another  glimpse  of  beauty  had 
been  given  him,  and  m  his  rapt  thought  it  was  sinking  into 
his  heart,  and  taking  its  place  in  his  imagination.  His  life  had 
been  a  very  secluded  one — secluded,  too,  none  the  less  because 
half  of  a  large  city  had  passed  before  his  eyes  in  unbroken  proces- 
sion. He  had  known  them  as  an  artist  who  had  been  employed 
by  them  ;  they  were  his  customers — not  even  his  patrons  ;  for 
he  knew  their  approach  to  him  had  been  prompted,  not  by  love 
for  his  art,  but   by  vanity.     Among  this  crowd,  many  of  the 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  25 


beautiful  and  gay  had  8at  to  kim — such  as  are  called  beantifal 
at  least ;  but  among  them  all  he  had  never  seen  a  face  which 
concentrated  his  thoughts  even  as  an  artist.  Among  them  all, 
various  and  even  opposite  to  each  other  as  many  of  them  were, 
he  had  never  recognised  one  line  of  poetry — one  tone  of  the 
mnsic  to  which  his  soul  could  vibrate.  The  sight  of  all  the 
gaiety  and  fashion  around  him,  attractive  as  it  would  have  been 
to  many,  had  created  no  wish  to  mingle  among  them  ;  he  had 
kept  aloof,  even  when  his  fame  as  an  artist  would  have  opened 
every  door  to  him. 

Cara's  was  not  only  a  new  face  to  him — it  was  almost  a  new 
world ;  and  the  sight  of  it  almost  reconciled  him  to  the  life  of 
a  portrait  painter.  He  said  truly  that  he  would  paint  it  with  a 
pleasure  no  face  had  ever  given  him.  But  still  he  was  not  in 
love — at  least  not  in  the  manner  of  feeling  called  love.  He 
could  love  a  beautiful  object  for  its  beauty,  and  yet  have  no 
wish  to  possess  it.  His  love  was  the  love  of  a  painter ;  and 
perhaps  it  would  go  forth  with  as  much  fervor  for  a  stately 
tree,  swinging  and  sighing  in  the  wind,  or  calmly  sleeping  in 
the  sunlight,  as  for  a  lovely  woman.  To  have  lost  the  oppor- 
tunity of  painting  Cara's  face,  would  have  been  a  severe  dis- 
appointment to  him  ;  he  revelled  in  the  very  idea  of  painting 
it,  and  yet  never  thought  the  possession  of  that  face  could  or 
might  be  aught  to  him  but  an  object  to  be  painted. 

He  was  not  in  love,  then,  in  the  meaning  usually  attached  to 
the  term  ;  and  yet  he  might  be,  too.  She  had  come  very  near 
his  heart  when  she  admired  and  appreciated  his  picture — the 
picture  of  which  he  was  so  jealous.  But  Mr.  Thorpe  had  ad- 
mired it  too,  and  appreciated  its  excellence  as  thoroughly  as 
she  ;  did  he,  therefore,  love  him  likewise  ?    No  ;  for  he  was  not  a 

2 


a9  TALBOT  AND  VSRNON. 

^oman,  luid,  though  eminently  a  handsome  man,  he  had  not  the 
beauty  which  the  painter  loves.  Nor,  If  the  face  of  Cara  had 
^longed  to  Thorpe,  would  Vernon  have  had  the  same  feeling 
towards  it.  It  was  not,  therefore,  only  because  the  face  was  a 
beautiful  one,  that  he  desired  to  paint  it ;  but,  also,  because  it 
belonged  to  a  woman^-one  who  combined  with  it  all  the  sc^t- 
ness  and  sweetness  of  her  sex.  Still,  we  say  again,  he  was  not 
in  love — as  yet. 

He  sat  for  a  long  time  withont  moving.  He  then  arose, 
took  the  ^*  Sunset,''  gazed  on  it  for  a  moment,  enveloped  and 
tied  it,  wrote  **  Miss  Cara  Talbot"  on  the  paper,  went  out  with 
it,  and  returned  without  it.     He  had  sent  it  to  her ! 

*'  She  is  the  first  who  ever  appreciated  it,"  he  said,  **  and  she 
shall  have  it."  But  she  was  not  the  first.  True,  she  had  at 
once  entered  into  the  beauty  of  it  when  she  observed  it ;  but 
Thorpe  had  fully  valued  it  before  she  saw  it,  and  he  had  called 
her  attention  to  it.  Allen  did  not  know  this ;  but  if  he  had 
known  it,  would  he  have  acted  difierently  ?  We  cannot  tell, 
What  would  have  been,  had  circumstances  been  changed,  we 
can  never  know  even  of  ourselves.  It  is  probable,  however, 
that  he  would  have  acted  precisely  as  he  did. 

As  he  re-entered  the  room  he  locked  the  door,  disposed  the 
curtains  so  as  to  throw  a  strong  light  upon  his  easel,  and  seiz* 
ing  a  square  of  canvas  prepared  for  another  purpose,  began  to 
sketch  a  portrait.  Line  after  line  came  out,  without  previous 
preparation  by  rule  or  square ;  shade  after  shade,  curve  after 
curve,  and  feature  after  feature,  until,  when  he  rose  from  his 
seat,  and  stepped  back  to  look  at  it,  the  face  oi  Cara  Talbot, 
perfect  in  its  outlines,  perfect  even  in  its  expression,  gazed, 
wJth  its  mingled  intellect  and  ^07,  itom  \^«  e.^\iN%&.    He  took 


TALBOT  AND  VBRNON,  <0> 


bis  pencil — the  colors  were  ready  upon  his  palette — and  with  » 
rapid,  but  steady  and  delicate  hand,  began  to  fill  up  the  outUnei, 
Hour  after  hour  went  past,  and  still  he  labored.  His  fathei 
knocked  at  the  door  to  call  him  to  dinner,  and  went  away 
unheard.  He  was  painting  the  soft,  deep,  ethereal  blue  of  hex 
eye ;  and  beaming  out  upon  him  with  the  same  expressioii 
which  had  marked  it  when  she  turned  to  him  to  make  her 
request  of  a  picture  like  the  **  Sunset,"  it  had  a  fascination  for 
him  far  above  all  sensual  things.  The  knock  and  the  queruloua 
voice  were  alike  unheard.  The  nose  was  dashed  upon  the 
canvas,  clearly  chiselled,  straight,  and  full  of  character ;  and 
the  mouth,  with  its  thin  but  rosy  lips,  smiling  upon  him  with 
mingled  kindness  and  pleasure,  and  disclosing  the  small,  white 
teeth,  regular,  and  contrasting  beautifully  with  the  deep  ruby 
hue  around  them.  Then  came  the  round  and  well-developed 
chin,  and  the  soft,  downy  cheeks,  and  the  small  ears,  and  the 
round  neck,  bending  forward  and  giving  grace  and  strength  to 
the  head.  He  painted  these  with  a  rapid,  flowing  hand,  but 
with  an  intensity  of  application  which  abstracted  him  from  all 
consciousness  except  of  his  employment.  Several  for  whom  he 
had  appointed  sittings,  came  and  went  away ;  he  heard  them 
not,  nor  thought  of  them.  He  painted  the  flowing  mass  of 
light,  waving  hair,  falling  in  rich  profusion  behind  the  ears,  as 
it  was  when  she  threw  her  head  back  to  look  up  into  his  face. 
At  last  he  touched  the  forehead,  and  his  intensity  of  abstrac- 
tion deepened,  and  his  execution  became  less  rapid.  Every 
stroke  of  the  brush  was  made  more  carefully — every  eflect  was 
tried  again  and  again  ;  but  still  he  painted  with  marvellous 
rapidity.  The  feminine  lowness,  the  serene  white,  the  ex'^i^- 
sjoi?  of  purity,  the  waving  slope  and  the  symmeliicaY  io\xuaxvft«^ 


is  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


at  the  temples,  each  was  given  in  its  perfect  character ;  and 
over  the  whole  was  cast,  like  light  from  heaven,  the  air  of 
placid  and  yet  keen  intellect,  to  elevate  and  hallow.  As  he 
gave  it  the  last  touch,  and  rose  to  look  at  it,  the  rays  of  the 
setting  sun,  which  his  form  had  intercepted  before,  fell  upon  it, 
and  bathed  it  in  mellow  radiance.  It  needed  but  this  to  perfect 
its  expression. 

He  drew  a  long  breath  as  if  just  returning  to  consciousness, 
and  gazed  about  him  like  one  awakened  suddenly  from  a  vivid 
dream*  ^ 


CHAPTER   III. 

'^Derili  loonest  tempt,  resembling  ipiriti  of  light"    i.OTB*t  labok  LOfiw 

**  Some  that  imile  have  in  their  hearts,  I  fear, 
Millions  of  mischiefl"    julius  c jcsar. 

"  Fast  bind,  fast  find.-'    merchamt  or  TErricx. 

**  What  find  I  here  ? 
Fair  Portia*s  counterfeit  ?    What  deml-god  n 

Hath  come  so  near  creation?"    MCRCHAifT  or  tbitice. 

Mqhris  Thorp,  Esq.,  was  the  son  of  a  mechanic  who,  by 
industry  and  economy,  had  been  enabled  to  give  his  son  a  com- 
plete education,  and  £t  him  for  the  bar.  Here  his  ability  had 
ended ;  and  just  launched  upon  the  tide  without  means  to 
sustain  him,  until  his  talen^s  should  secure  him  against  want, 
Morris  began  the  practice  of  the  law  under  no  very  favorable 
auspices.  But  he  had  made  the  most  of  his  opportunities  while 
at  college,  and  was  well  calculated  to  shine  in  society  and  in 
the  forum.  For  the  first  few  years,  it  is  true,  he  had  depended 
principally  upon  his  wits — for  he  was  young,  unknown,  with- 
out friends.  His  father  died  a  year  after  he  was  admitted  to 
the  bar,  and  his  mother  had  been  sleeping  for  many  years.  He 
had  one  sister,  now  dependent  upon  him  alone ;  and  people  be- 
gan to  observe  that  Morris  "  deserved  great  credit"  for  his  en- 
ergy and  perseverance.     But  by  "  credit"  thev  did  UOVi  \ftfi^ 


ao  TALBOT  AND  VERNOK. 

r 

pecuniary  confidence,  but  friendly  commendation ;  no  one  loan- 
ed him  money  when  he  needed  it,  because  of  his  energy,  nor 
would  any  of  those  who  said  he  deserved  credit  have  given  it 
to  him,  in  the  matter  of  a  book-account.  They  knew  he  had 
nothing  to  depend  upon  but  his  own  exertions,  and  they  might 
be  cut  short  by  death  or  accident  at  any  moment.  Morris  un- 
derstood the  world,  however,  and  the  only  effect  all  this  had 
upon  him,  was  to  make  him  more  anxious  to  secure  a  position 
above  the  need  of  favor.  He  had  long  been  used  to  every  sort 
«f  expedient  to  win  his  way,  and  he  had  not  allowed  his  lessons 
to  pass  unimproved.  He  was  self-possessed  and  plaiisible  in 
the  extreme,  and  could  wind  himself  through  life  without  touch- 
ing any  sharp  comers,  without  coming  in  contact  with  any 
man's  prejudices,  and  without  making  enemies.  He  was  tall 
and  elegant  in  figure,  had  a  handsome,  open  countenance, 
Whose  chief  expression  was  good  nature,  and  a  manner  which 
took  captive  all  with  whom  he  came  in  contact.  A  close  ob- 
server might  have  detected  something  hard  about  the  eye  and 
felse  in  the  expression  of  the  mouth  ;  but  men  are  not  generally 
«lose  observers ;  and  though  he  was  undoubtedly  perfectly  un- 
scrupulous, few,  if  any,  suspected  it.  Thrown  into  a  position 
which  his  means  did  not  enable  him  to  fill,  and  forced  to  ques- 
tionable expedients  to  sustain  himself,  he  could  scarcely  have 
become  anything  else — especially  with  his  disposition  to  seek 
distinction. 

Years  had  glided  by,  and  he  had  gradually  risen  in  his  pro- 
fession.    Coolness  and  dexterity  in  the  management  of  his  bu- 
siness, fluency  and  even  eloquence  in  his  displays,  and  a  com- 
plete command  over  all  the  appliances  of  acting,  had  given  him 
»  character  'which  men  of  fiiner-  ta\enls  ta\^\.  tvoWvj^  ^\xi<^diti 


TALBOT  AND  VBRNOK.  SI 


a  life-time.  The  reader  must  not  suppose,  however,  that  these 
were  his  only  recommendations ;  on  the  contrary,  he  had  re- 
markably quick  powers,  a  practical,  observing  mind,  was  tho- 
roughly educated,  and  had  spent  years  of  really  intense  study 
to  prepare  himself  for  life.  His  taste  was  cultivated  and  refined 
and  familiarity  with  the  works  of  art  in  every  branch  had  en- 
abled him  to  verify  his  opinions  and  secure  his  readings  He 
had  a  quick  perception  oi  beauty  of  every  kind,  and  was  fami- 
liar with  the  poets  ef  every  epoch.  The  French,  Spanish, 
Crerman  and  Italian  literatures  were  as  £amiliar  to  him  as  they 
could  be  to  one  of  his  age  ;  he  had  studied  diligently  and  criti- 
cally, with  a  view  of  remembering,  too,  all  that  was  worth  re- 
membering in  each.  The  first  of  these  languages  he  spoke  flu- 
ently and  easily,  and  the  rest  he  read  aod  wrote  with  equal  ease. 
His  college  education  had  made  him  acquainted  with  ancient 
literature,  and  with  an  assiduity  astonishing  to  all  who  knew 
him,  he  pursued  these  studies  and  completed  his  knowledge  of 
them.  Remarkably  quick  apprehension  and  a  retentive  memo- 
ry, assisted  by  intense  ambition,  had  enabled  him  to  become  all 
this  at  the  age  of  twenty-seven.  In  his  profession,  he  was  not 
surpassed  by  any  one  around  him,  for  profound  and  accurate 
knowledge  and  quick  and  correct  views.  Neither  had  he  ne- 
glected the  more  common-place  learning  of  his  profession.  No 
one  could  unravel  the  mazes  of  an  intricate  account  or  compli- 
cated controversy  more  rapidly ;  no  one  surpassed  him  in  the 
intuitive  comprehension  which  takes  i|i  at  once  every  view  and 
item  of  a  protracted  suit.  In  a  country  where  neither  wealth 
nor  high  social  position,  and  in  a  profession  where  nothing  but 
quaU^cation  will  enable  one  to  succeed,  it  will  not  be  thought 
wonderful  that  he  rose  rapidly  and  surely. 


t2  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


In  society,  apart  from  his  profession,  he  was  an  accomplished 
gentleman,  whose  unerring  taste  and  clear  judgment  had  made 
him  an  oracle  even  before  he  was  famous  at  the  bar.  A  favo- 
rite among  the  ladies,  he  yet  did  not  lose  his  ascendancy  among 
the  men.  A  quiet,  calm  decisiveness  he  ever  showed,  and  the 
tone  of  perfect  good  humor  in  which  all  his  intercourse  with 
them  was  held,  prevented  their  rebelling  against  his  intellectual 
superiority  ;  while  that  superiority  enabled  him  to  preserve  the 
tone  of  a  man  of  the  world  and  a  scholar. 

He  had,  several  years  before  the  opening  of  our  story,  been 
enabled  to  do  Colonel  Talbot  a  great  service ;  and  the  appa- 
rently accidental  and  careless,  but  really  well-studied  hint  he 
had  given  him,  had  redounded  quite  as  much  to  his  own  as  to 
Talbot's  advantage.  Since  that  time  he  had  been  Talbot's 
attorney  and  confidential  adviser  in  all  his  affairs — a  connection 
of  which  the  advantages  were  about  equally  divided. 

Thorp  was  not  a  man  to  lose  anything*  by  allowing  his  op- 
portunities to  go  by  unimproved ;  and  the  lapse  of  time  only 
served  to  make  his  connection  with  Talbot  more  intimate,  and 
the  latter's  confidence  more  implicit.  Talbot  was  a  thorough 
f*  business  man,"  but  he  was  a  little  slow  and  somewhat  dull ; 
and  Thorp  knew  well  how  to  avail  himself  of  every  trait  of  hits 
character.  While  he  seemed  to  be  acquiescing  in  the  mer- 
chant's opinions,  he  was  really  guiding  them ;  and  tlie  rapidity 
of  his  apprehensio|i  an()  his  thorough  acquaintance  with  busi- 
ness, enabled  him  to  govern  even  the  course  of  Talbot's mer- 
cantile affairs.  Through  him  hfs  sister,  Maria,  had  been  intro- 
duced to  the  family ;  and  possessing  a  mind  somewhat  resem- 
bling her  brother's,  she  had  pl^ye4  to  sgme  extent  the  same 
gBme  with  her  brother  in  another  s^phex©,    Cai^'^  x^t^Uei^^  U^e 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  33 


the  majority  of  women,  whose  husbands  have  risen  from  hum* 
ble  circumstances,  was  a  mere  cypher,  willing  to  be  guided  by 
any  one  who  would  take  the  trouble,  and  distrustful  of  nothing 
60  much  as  of  her  own  opinions.  Maria's  ascendancy  over  her 
was,  therefore,  easily  acquired  and  secure.  Over  Cara  she  had 
also  great  influence;  but  it  arose  more  immediately  from  her 
thoughtless  and  careless  character,  than  from  her  want  of  per- 
ception. Maria  governed  her  in  many  things,  and  Cara  was 
conscious  of  it.  But  in  important  matters  Maria  was  too  acute 
to  attempt  to  either  govern  or  change  her.  When  she  took  the 
trouble  to  form  a  resolution,  nothing  could  induce  her  to  review 
it ;  but  this  she  seldom .  did ;  and  her  volatility  had  enabled 
Maria  to  establish  an  ascendancy  in  many  things  little  inferior 
in  command  to  that  of  her  brother  over  Cara*s  father. 

Colonel  Talbot  wished  his  daughter  to  marry  Thorp ;  and 
this  was  a  matter  in  which  Thorp  was  not  likely  to  try  to 
change  him.  On  the  contrary,  Thorp  loved  Cara  with  as  in- 
tense an  affection  as  his  calculating  nature  would  allow  him  to 
feel.  She  was  wealthy,  the  only  heir  of  an  immense  estate, 
and  of  that  estate  he  stood  in  need.  He  had  been  poor  enough 
to  know  the  full  value  of  wealth  ;  and  he  resolved  that  nothing 
should  prevent  his  possessing  her  and  it. 

As  for  Cara  she  thought  but  little  about  the  matter.  She 
was  naturally  enough  pleased  with  the  marked  attention  he 
showed  her,  and  her  vanity  was  gratified  by  monopolizing  the 
thoughts  of  the  most  accomplished  and  handsomest  man  in  her 
circle.  Her  father  had  made  no  secret  of  his  wishes,  and  her 
mother  had  joined  him.  She  loved  her  parents,  rather  liked 
Morris,  and  accustomed  herself  to  look  upon  him  as  her  intend- 
ed  huBband — ^Ae  even  imag'med  she  loved  him.     But  QlneXYiMV^ 


34  TALBOT  AND  YEBNON. 


she  stipulated  for,  when  it  was  settled  with  her  father — ^that  the 
union  should  not  take  place  until  she  attained  her  eighteenth 
year,  and  (she  playfully  added)  "  I  must  be  at  liberty  to  change 
my  mind  even  then,  if  in  the  mean  time  I  meet  any  one  whom 
I  can  like  better/' 

*'That  you  will  hardly  do/'  said  her  father. 

She  laughed,  and  the  matter  was  arranged.  Morris  made  an 
tffort — and  his  sister  made  another — to  change  her  mind,  and 
persuade  her  that  when  she  had  once  resolved  to  take  a  step, 
the  sooner  she  took  it  the  better.  But  this  effort  convinced 
them  that  thi^  was  one  of  the  subjects  upon  which  she  had 
taken  the  trouble  to  form  a  resolution. 

«  Why,''  said  she  to  Maria,  **  what  kind  of  a  wife  would  I 
make  now,  giddy  as  I  am?  And,  besides,  I  am  but  sixteen; 
and  I  am  determined  to  enjoy  life  a  little  before  I  tie  myself  to 
any  man,  even  your  brother.  I  would  look  well  as  a  married 
woman,  indeed — perhaps  with  a  child  in  ray  arms  to  tie  me 
down  and  deafen  my  ears — humph  !  no  indeed  !" 

Maria  gave  up  the  point,  trusting  to  time  and  her  brother's 
ingenuity  and  fascination ;  and  thus  the  matter  stood  at  the  pe- 
riod of  the  commencement  of  our  story. 

As  they  left  the  painter's  studio.  Thorp  noticed  that  Cara  was 
absent  and  thoughtful ;  and  this  was  by  no  means  a  manner 
which  he  was  fond  of  seeing.  Indeed,  the  less  she  thought  the 
better  he  was  pleased  ;  and  least  of  all  did  he  like  to  see  that 
effect  produced  by  an  interview  with  a  handsome  young  gen- 
tleman. 

"  Mr.  Vernon  seems  to  have  made  an  imiwression,"  said  he, 
as  he  handed  her  into  the  carriage,  and  stepped  in  after  her. 
Upon  me?     Why?"  she  asked. 


// 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  35 


"You  seemed  absent/'  said  her  companion,  **  a  mood  you  are 
not  much  given  to." 

«  Do  you  mean  that  as  an  admonition  to  be  more  serious  V* 

**  O  no,'*  said  he,  "  you  please  me  best  as  you  are  best  pleased 
to  be." 

"  Well,"  said  she,  somewhat  pettishly,  "  I  am  glad  you  do 
not  wish  to  assume  the  Mentor  yet." 

"  Yet  ?"  said  he,  in  surprise ;"  what  can  you  mean?" 

*'  Nothing,"  she  answered  quietly,  *'  at  least,  I  hope,  no- 
thing." 

**  Home  V*  asked  the  driver. 

"  No :  to  Major  Bryce's." 

Thorp  made  no  further  observation  for  some  time,  but  the 
glitter  in  his  eye  showed  that  he  had  not  forgotten  her  words. 

"  Come,"  said  Cara  at  last,  "do  talk  to  me — I  feel  lonely." 

"  Lonely,  Cara  ?"  he  said,  reproachfully. 

"O  pshaw  I"  she  exclaimed,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  even  petu- 
lantly ;  "  why  do  you  persecute  me  with  your  jealousy  ?  I  can 
never  make  even  the  most  common-place  complaint  but  you 
catch  me  up  as  reproachfully  as  if  I  had  uttered  treason.  Why 
should  I  not  feel  lonely,  when  my  only  companion  will  not  say 
a  word  to  me  ?" 

"  Cara,"  said  Thorpe,  with  a  gravity  which  he  knew 
perfectly  how  to  assume,  "  you  know  I  would  do  anything  in 
the  world  to  save  you  from  even  the  merest  weariness — " 

"O  well,"  she  interrupted  him  somewhat  softened,  "let  us 
say  no  more  about  it.  I  was  wrong,  no  doubt,  and  so  are  you 
to  notice  my  childishness  so  seriously.     Let  us  forget  it." 

"  I  can  forgive  you,  Cara — "  he  commenced,  but  she  broke 
in: 


36  TALBOT  AND  VERNOIT. 


<*  I  did  not  ask  for  that — ^I  did  not  ask  for  that !  I  only  said 
let  us  forget  it — and  you  seem  to  lie  in  wait  for  me  as  if  you 
were  cross-examining  a  witness.  Pray,  Morris,  when  you  talk 
to  me,  throw  off  a  little  of  the  lawyer/' 

"  Cara,''  said  he  slowly,  **  if  my  presence  is  not  agreeable  I 
will  leave  the  carriage,  and  see  you  when  you  are  in  better 
spirits."  He  pulled  the  check-string  as  he  spoke  and  the 
coachman  drew  up. 

^  By  no  means,''  said  Cara,  quickly ;  *'  drive  on,  George ; 
Mr.  Thorpe  has  changed  his  mind."  The  driver  cracked  his 
whip  muttering  at  the  fickleness  of  ''  big  people,"  and  Cara 
turned  to  Thorpe.  **  Morris,"  she  said  gently,  "  I  will  ask 
your  forgiveness  now ;  will  you  not  pardon  me  ?  I  wa§  too 
unreasonable — ^I  do  not  know  what  ails  me." 

"  Willingly,"  he  said,  smiling  affectionately,  and  pressing  the 
hand  she  had  laid  upon  his  arm ;  **  willingly,  Cara ;  but  you 
try  me  very  severely." 

"  I  dare  say  now,"  she  said  laughingly,  withdrawing  her 
hand,  "  that  you  were  only  trying  me,  and  did  not  intend  to 
leave  the  carriage  at  all." 

"  I  thought  you  would  relent  before  I  got  entirely  out," 
said  he. 

"  Then,"  said  she,  becoming  serious  again,  "  the  next  time 
you  attempt  it  I  will  let  you  go — so  be  careful." 

He  had  not  time  to  reply  before  the  carriage  drew  up,  with  a 
jerk,  in  front  of  a  large,  three-storied,  stone  house,  with  large 
windows  and  yellow  inside  blinds.  This  was  the  residence  of 
Major  Bryce,  whose  wife  was  a  relative  of  Thorpe's  mother 
and  at  whose  house  his  sister  was  then  residing.  By  a 
singular  coincidence  the  Major  was  bim^M  a.  co\)&Ya  ot  Allen 
Vernon's  deceased  parent. 


CHAPTEE    IV. 

"  We  call  a  nettle  but  a  nettle,  and  the  faults  of  fix>li  but  folly.'*— Coriolamus. 

*^  We  must  take  the  current  when  it  servet, 
Or  loM  our  yentoTM. — Juuvi  Cbsar. 

As  Cara  and  Thorp  entered  the  drawing-room  at  Major 
Bryce's,  they  were  met  by  his  sister  Maria,  a  tall,  fine-looking 
girl  of  about  twenty  years,  who  was  in  all  things,  except  the 
difference  necessarily  produced  by  the  difference  of  sex,  an  ex- 
act counterpart  of  her  brother.  There  was,  perhaps,  less  good 
nature  expressed  in  her  face,  and  in  its  stead  might  be  traced 
the  haughty  superciliousness  which  in  him  was  kept  sedulously 
hidden.  She  seemed  more  intellectual,  too,  than  she  was,  and 
had  she  been  older  might,  with  not  a  tithe  of  her  brother's 
learning,  have  played  the  **  blue"  with  some  success.  The 
same  traits  which  prevented  her  governing  the  pride  of  her  cha- 
racter, likewise  prevented  her  emulating  him  in  attainments. 
Perhaps  the  only  real  difference  between  them  was  a  difference 
in  the  degree  of  patience.  With  this  exception,  she  was  not 
only  a  very  agreeable  but  a  very  fascinating  woman — ^suffici- 
ently well  read  to  mingle  in,  and  even  lead  a  literary  circle,  and 
yet  not  too  learned  to  be  tolerated. 


38  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


She  received  Cara  with  the  affectionate  simplicity  of  an  in- 
timate friend,  with  none  of  the  familiarity  likely  to  impair  her 
influence — kissing  her  kindly  upon  the  cheek,  and  leading  her 
to  a  seat,  T^'hile  she  occupied  another  herself.  Her  brother  walk- 
ed away  to  a  table  and  looked  over  a  pile  of  newspapers.  A 
moment  afterwards  the  door  opened  and  Miss  Bryce  entered, 
rushing  like  a  whirlwind  up  to  Cara,  and  almost  smothering 
her  in  her  embrace.  She  was  large,  not  tall,  fleshy  and  round 
— sufliciently  so,  indeed,  to  have  made  her  movements  a  little 
more  dignified.  Instead  of  this,  however,  she  affected  a  man- 
ner which  might  have  suited  a  fairy,  or  which  might  have  been 
tolerated  in  Cara,  but  was  in  her  incongruous  and  autrd.  Her 
appearance  was  that  of  a  fine  lady  manufactured  by  the  milli- 
ner, and  the  character  of  her  form  was  simple  grossness  or 
coarseness ;  hanging  and  rolling  about  under  her  clothes  as  if 
cords  could  not  confine  it  even  to  the  intolerable  shape  Grod  had 
given  it.  She  was  broad  in  the  shoulders,  deep  in  the  chest, 
thick  in  the  waist,  and  had  an  abominable  fashion  of  wearing 
more  clothes  than  were  fashionable  even  then — when  three 
hundred  yards  was  a  small  allowance  for  a  woman  in  full  dress. 
Long  arms  and  large  hands  and  feet,  completed  a  form  less 
adapted  to  the  gossamer  bearing  than  one  in  a  thousand.  Ac- 
companying this  coarseness  was  a  face  differing  in  essential  fea- 
tures from  the  appropriate,  and  expressing  a  character  very  dif- 
ferent from  what  one  would  have  expected  from  her  form. 
One  feature  alone  kept  up  the  vraisemblance ;  this  was  her 
nose,  which  expressed  the  violent  exaggeration  and  mingled 
sentimentality  and  coarseness  of  her  character.  Her  eyes  were 
large,  deep  and  expressive,  of  a  dark  gray  hue,  approaching  to 
the  blue,  and  set  wide  apart.    In  \.\xe\i  ex^x^^Sou  iVv^  ^ere 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  39 


soft,  womanly,  and  sometimes  delicate ;  but  among  men,  they 
lost  this  character  and  became  inviting,  bold  and  sometimes 
equivocal.  Her  mouth  was  large  and  well-filled  with  strong 
white  teeth  ;  and  when  she  talked  the  lips  took  the  hue  of  the 
subject  of  which  she  conversed — expressing  compassion,  afiec- 
tion,  religion,  hatred,  contempt,  and  every  other  passion  predi- 
cable  upon  her  gross  nature.  Her  forehead  was  high  and  firm, 
surmounted  by  a  mass  of  dark  hair  ;  her  neck  was  thick  but 
smooth  and  round,  apparently  driven  down  like  a  post  between 
her  immense  shoulders.  Her  most  prominent  mental  character- 
istics were  self-esteem,  exaggerated  into  superciliousness,  com- 
bined most  unaccountably  with  an  illegitimate  reverence  for  the 
opinions  of  others,  a  constant  tendency  to  become  maudlin,  and 
a  superlative  admiration  of  genius  on  a  small  scale.  Her 
strongest  passions  were  love  of  notoriety,  howsoever  obtained, 
and  of  sympathy  for  imaginary  unhappiness.  Her  chief  senti- 
ment was  a  strong  desire  for  confidence,  and  she  loved  nothing 
so  well  in  a  confidante  as  complaisance  to  burn  incense  to  her 
vanity,  an  easy  temper  to  bear  with  her  endless  whims,  and 
dullness  to  be  blind  to  her  repeated  treacheries. 

With  all  these  dangerous  and  disgusting  qualities,  one  would 
have  supposed  her  position  in  society  would  be  insecure.  But 
nothing  could  be  less  true.  She  was  sustained  by  the  gentle- 
men, to  whom  her  free  manners  were  extremely  fascinating. 
If  she  thought  her  footing  becoming  precarious,  she  would  have 
a  series  of  faintings,  each  time  falling  into  the  arms  of  some 
gentleman,  and  waking  with  the  most  dove-like  tenderness  in 
her  eyes,  and  the  deepest  expressions  of  gratitude.  With  all 
this  liberality  of  her  person,  she  never  did  anything  positively 
to  compromise  herself,  and  thus  kept  ciear  of  every  demox^tn^- 


40  TALBOT  AND  VERNON 


tion  from  her  own  sex,  except  the  contempt  which  the  majcnrity 
of  them  did  not  scruple  to  express.  She  was  sustained  by  the 
opposite  sex ;  and  whatever  may  be  thought,  they  can  sustain 
any  one  who  avoids  positively  compromising  herself. 

After  she  had  almost  smothered  Cara,  and  at  last  let  her  loose, 
^e  suddenly  perceived  Thorpe.  She  ran  to  him,  and  taking 
his  hand,  pressed  it  in  hers  warmly,  and  looked  up  into  his  face 
with  one  of  those  dying  looks  with  which  she  usually  recovered 
from  a  fainting  fit.  Thorpe  returned  the  pressure,  and  looked 
as  if  he  would  as  lief  press  her  lips  too,  had  Cara  not  been 
present.  As  it  was,  he  led  her,  still  holding  her  hand,  to  the 
sofa  where  Cara  sat,  and  left  her.  At  the  same  moment  her 
father  entered. 

Where  or  how  Major  Bryce  had  got  his  majority,  no  one 
knew.  He  had  served  in  the  war  of  1812,  with  Great  Britain, 
and  had  been  appointed  by  the  Colonel  of  his  regiment,  in  which 
he  was  a  Subaltern,  to  the  post  of  Regimental  Quarter-Master, 
and  when  he  came  home  he  consequently  bore  the  title  of 
captain.  Soon  afterwards  he  had  received  an  accession  of 
wealth  by  his  marriage  with  a  woman  whose  wealth  was  her 
only  recommendation  to  the  poor  Quarter-Master,  (now  dis- 
charged;) and,  having  become  rich,  he  was,  of  course,  ad- 
vanced in  military  rank.  At  all  events,  he  was  now  a  Major, 
by  courtesy,  and  had  been  for  many  years.  He  was  a  short, 
thick-set  man,  of  about  fifty,  with  a  large,  good-humored  face, 
and  an  immense  pair  of  red  whiskers,  now  fast  verging  towards 
the  gray.  His  countenance  was  rough,  even  coarse,  (he  had 
Scotch  blood  in  his  veins,)  and  fiorid,  full  of  health  and  vigor. 
He  was  somewhat  fat,  but  his  step  was  alert  and  quick,  and 
his  bearing  soldierly.    His  smaW,  gTO.7  e^ft  twinkled  almost 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  41 

merrily ;  and  his  large  mouth,  opened  with  a  kindly  ismile, 
showed  two  rows  of  strong,  long,  but  not  very  clean  teeth. 
Mingled  with  his  manner  was  a  sort  of  brusqueness,  which 
sometimes  seemed  rudeness ;  and  in  his  tone  of  conversation 
there  was  sometimes  a  little  pompousness — a  habit  which  had 
grown  upon  him  while  he  was  a  rich  man,  and  he  was,  conse- 
quently, listened  to  as  an  oracle.  «•  While  he  was  a  rich  roan/' 
we  said  ;  for  now  he  was  not  so.  His  daughter's  reckless  ex- 
travagance, in  which  she  tried  to  compensate  the  coarseness  of 
her  appearance,  by  the  fineness  of  everything  around  her,  com- 
bined with  the  Major's  want  of  capacity  for  "  management,''  (a 
strange  anomaly  in  a  man  with  Scotch  blood  in  his  veins,)  had 
gradually  reduced  his  wealth  to  very  narrow  limits ;  and,  at 
this  period,  he  was  casting  about  for  some  means  of  recraiting 
his  coiiers. 

As  he  entered  the  room  he  advanced  briskly  to  Cara,  and 
(the  old  gentleman  had  been  eight  years  a  widower,)  kissed  her 
upon  both  cheeks.  He  next  shook  hands  with  Thorpe,  and 
seated  himself  beside  his  sister. 

"  Upon  my  word!"  said  Maria,  "  if  you  go  on  at  this  rate 
Mary  may  look  for  a  stepmother  before  she  is  a  year  older  I" 

"  And  why  not  ?"  said  the  old  gentleman.  "  WoiUdn't  I 
make  a  good  husband  for  any  of  you  ?" 

"  Certainly  ;  if  you  are  not  over  sixty,  I'll  take  you  myself," 
said  Cara. 

"  Sixty  !"  exclaimed  the  old  gentlemen  ;  "I'm  scarcely  more 
than  fifty  I" 

"Ah!"  said  Maria,  "  that's  worse  than  I  thought — 

"  Because  that  number  rarely  much  endears, 
And  through  all  climes,  the  snowy  and  the  sunny. 
Sounds  ill  in  love,  whatever  it  may  in  money." 


42  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


"  At  fifty,'*  said  Thorpe,  "  love  for  love  is  rare,  'tis  true." 
"  Yes,"  said  Cara,  looking  at  Morris  archly — 

"  But,  then,  no  doubt,  it  equally  ai  true  ii, 
A  good  deal  may  be  bought  for  fifty  louis." 

«*0!  Jupiter  I"  exclaimed  the  old  man,  "if  you  all  quote 
poetry  on  me,  I  must  give  in,  for  I  never  could  remember  a 
line  in  my  life." 

"  Then,"  said  Cara,  "  I  withdraw  my  pledge ;  I  never  could 
bear  a  man  who  could  not  occupy  a  whole  evening  in  reci- 


tation." 


"  And,  besides,"  said  Thorpe,  "  she  is  peculiarly  full  of 
poetry  now  ;  we  have,  just  visited  the  studio  of  a  very  poetical 
portrait  painter." 

"  Your  description  is  better  than  your  meaning,"  said  Cara, 
quickly. 

"  Cousin  Morris  never  liked  poetry,"  said  Mary  solemnly,  as 
if  she  had  been  imparting  a  secret  x>eculiarly  within  her  know- 
ledge. 

•'  Indeed !"  said  Cara,  opening  her  eyes  very  wide. 

*'  We  have  been  to  the  studio  of  young  Mr.  Vernon,"  said 
Thorpe  to  the  Major.     «*  Do  you  know  him?" 

"  Do  I  know  him  ?"  said  the  latter  pompously  drawing  him- 
self up.     "  Was  not  his  mother  my  second  cousin  ?" 

"  Indeed,  I  don't  know,"  said  Morris,  gravely. 

"  Well,  I  do,"  said  the  Major.  "  Certainly  I  know  him  I  he 
is  my  daughter's  third  cousin,  sir !" 

"  O I  father  I"  exclaimed  the  young  lady  referred  to.  "  That 
common  painter,  my  cousin !"  And  she  held  up  her  large  hands 
in  honor  at  the  idea. 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  43 


«  A  common  painter,  did  you  say  ?*'  asked  Cara  almost  an- 
grily.    "  Did  you  ever  see  him,  or  any  of  his  works  ?" 

"  She  refers  to  his  occupation/'  interposed  Thorpe,  <<  and  not 
to  the  man.'' 

"  And  what  have  you  to  say  against  his  occupation  ?'-  pur- 
sued Cara.  « Is  it  not  respectable,  nay,  honorable  and  intel- 
lectual in  a  very  high  degree  ?" 

"  Indeed,  I  don't  know,"  said  Mary,  shrinking  from  the  dis- 
cussion, because  she  felt  incompetent  to  continue  it. 

Thorpe  interposed  again,  not  without  noticing  Cara's  warmth. 

*'  Mere  portrait  painting,"  said  he,  "  can  only  be  an  intellectual 
occux>ation  when  the  artist  has  intellectual  faces  to  paint ;  and 
even  then  it  cannot  compare  with  the  production  of  such  works 
as  the  one  we  saw,  Cara,  representing  a  sunset." 

« I  would  like  to  possess  that  picture,"  said  Cara. 

"  You  will  hardly  ever  be  so  fortunate,"  said  Morris.  "  He 
seems  to  value  it  too  highly  to  part  with  it.  Nothing,  I  think, 
short  of  love  for  you  would  enable  you  to  secure  it." 

«  Even  that,"  said  she  laughing,  "  is  not  impossible." 

"  Certainly  not,"  said  Thorpe ;  "  on  the  contrary,  rather.** 

"  Is  he  painting  your  portrait  ?"  ask(d  the  Major. 

"  He  will  soon,"  she  answered,  "  we  take  the  first  sitting  to- 


morrow." 


Having  prevented  an  angry  discussion,  Morris  walked  a^ay 
to  the  table,  and  again  looked  at  the  newspaper. 

"  Yon  will  see  by  the  paper,  there,"  said  the  Major,  "  that 
we  are  likely  to  have  some  difficulty  on  the  Rio  Grande." 

"Yes,"  said  Thorpe,  reading  on,  "our  Government  can 
scarcely  avoid  a  war  now — " 

«<  Even  if  she  wishes  to  do  so,"  interrupted  the  Major* 


44  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


"  Which  she  does  not,"  added  Thorpe ;  and  he  read  on  through 
a  long  account  of  the  capture  and  murder  of  Captain  Thornton, 
just  before  the  declaration  of  war  in  1846. 

"  We  may  look  for  a  proclamation,  I  think,  soon,"  he  said, 
as  he  finished  the  account,  and  laid  the  paper  quietly  down. 
The  Major  looked  as  if  he  could  say  more,  but  was  silent. 

"  Suppose  war  should  be  declared,"  said  Maria  to  the  latter, 
*•  would  you  think  of  rejoining  the  army  ?" 

*<  That  depends  upon  circumstances,"  said  he,  cautiously. 

"  That  is,"  said  Cara,  "  if  you  should  be  appointed  Briga- 
dier by  the  President  you  would  go  ;  if  not  you  would  stay." 

**  My  aspirations  are  not  so  high,"  he  replied. 

<<  Then  you  have  aspirations?"  said  Maria. 

"  Expectations  would  be  the  more  proper  word,"  the  Maj<^ 
answered  mysteriously  ;  and  turning  to  Thorpe  he  added,  **  I 
want  to  speak  to  you,  Morris,  privately  before  you  leave  the 
house." 

"  I  am  here  en  aUcTuiance,*'  said  the  latter,  "  and  my  move- 
ments depend  upon  Miss  Cara." 

" Then  come  with  me  now,"  said  he  ;  "she  will  wait,  I  am 


sure." 


"  That  depends  upon  how  long  he  stays,"  said  Cara. 

"  O,  we  will  not  be  absent  a  moment,"  and  they  passed  out. 

"  I  have  positive  and  reliable  information,"  the  Major  com- 
menced as  soon  as  he  had  shut  the  door  behind  him,  "that  our 
Government  has  been  expecting  a  rupture  with  Mexico  for 
several  weeks  ;  and  in  evidence  of  it,  read  that  letter." 

Thorpe  took  the  letter  and  found  it  to  be  an  intimation  from 

a  gentleman  in  one  of  the  departments,  who  might  he  supposed 

to  spe^k  ex  cathedra^  that  the  Ptesideiit  \va%  ^t«^^^  c;^\\w^ 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  45 

about  among  **  citizens  of  known  patriotism  and  capacity,"  to 
find  persons  "  adapted  to  fill  important  stations  in  the  army,  in 
the  event  of  a  war  with  Mexico."  The  letter  went  on  to  de- 
tail with  brevity  the  stations  to  be  filled  until  it  came  to  the 
head  of  Quarter-Masters ;  and  then  came  the  gist  of  the  com- 
munication. It  was  hinted  that,  if  he  would  accept  a  post  in 
that  department  it  would  be  at  his  service.  An  immediate  an- 
swer was  requested,  and  the  letter  closed.  A  postscript,  how- 
ever, contained  information  no  less  important,  and  was  in  these 
words : 

*<  I  think  I  hazard  nothing  in  saying,  that  in  the  event  above 
anticipated,  your  state  will  be  called  upon  for  a  number  of 
Volunteer  Regiments.  Possibly  the  timely  notice  of  this  may 
enable  you  to  do  the  country  service  more  effectual  than  if  it 
came  to  you  through  the  usually  tardy  channels." 

"  This  has  a  little  of  the  « officiar  twang,"  said  Thorpe. 
"  You  have  answered  it,  of  course  ?" 

"  Of  course,"  echoed  the  Major;  "  and  have  accepted  in  ad- 
vance a  post  as  Quarter-Master.  The  fact  is,  Morris,  my  affairs 
are  not  in  as  flourishing  a  situation  as  they  have  been ;  and  I 
know  enough  of  this  business  to  be  pretty  sure  of  recruiting 
them  in  it.  But  that  was  not  my  reason  for  communicating 
with  you."     He  paused  a  moment  and  then  went  on. 

"  This  war,  if  a  war  there  is  to  be,  will  be  a  popular  one,  and 
all  who  engage  in  it  will  derive  benefit  from  it.  Now,  you  are 
ambitious  of  a  seat  in  Congress — don't  deny  it ;  I  know  it — 
and  you  can  secure  it  in  one  way  only.  *  Take  time  by  the 
forelock,'  secure  a  position  in  public  opinion  by  taking  an  ac- 
tive part  in  the  agitation;  talk,  as  you  know  how,. at  publio 
meetings  ;  and  when  the  call  comes  for  volunteers,  depend  upon 


46  TALBOT  AND  VEBNON. 


It  you  can  secure  the  position  of  a  field  officer,  perhaps  of  tho 
commandant  of  a  regiment.  Go  to  Mexico,  exercise  youi 
talents,  get  into  a  fight,  acquit  yourself  creditably  and  come 
home — my  word  for  it  you  will  overstep  men  of  twice  yom 
years,  and  fifty  times  your  experience  in  politics." 

**Yes,''  said  Thorpe,  smiling;  <<  but.  Major,  suppose  some 
Mexicans  should  shoot  me — ^probably  my  promotion  would  have 
to  be  sought  in  a  place  upon  which  some  people  look  as  being 
hardly  equivalent  to  the  Capitol — I  mean  heaven.'' 

**  In  that,  of  course,''  said  the  Major,  "  you  would  have  to 
take  your  chance — but  that  you  would  be  willing  tx)  do,  cer- 
tainly." 

"  Certainly,"  said  Thorpe,  **  just  as  I  would  have  to  take  my 
chance  afterwards  for  a  seat  in  Congress." 

**  But  this  would  make  that  chance  better,"  argued  the  Major. 

"  I  believe  you  are  right,"  said  Thorpe,  after  a  moment's 
thought,  and  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you  for  the  intimation. 
I  will  begin  to  act  upon  it  immediately." 

"  Do  so,  do  so,  and  my  word  for  it,  you  will  be  benefitted." 
•  After  some  further  conversation  they  returned  to  the  drawing 
room  and  found  that  Cara  had  gone. 

*<  She  is  in  an  awful  humor  about  something  this  morning," 
said  Mary,  "  do  tell  us.  Cousin  Morris,  what  it  is  ?" 

«♦  I  am  as  ignorant  as  yourself — in  that  matter,"  said  Morris, 
making  an  ominous  pause  where  'we  have  placed  the  dash. 

He,  too,  was  in  **  an  awful  humor,"  and  soon  took  his  leave. 

In  the  meantime  Cara  had  reached  home.  On  entering  a  lit- 
tle private  parlor  adjoining  her  bed-chamber,  which  she  called 
her  library,  she  found  a  package  lying  on  the  table  directed  to 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  47 

her  in  dark  crinMon  paint.  She  tore  it  open  with  a  trembling 
hand,  and  discovered  what  she  expected — '*  The  Sunset." 

"  How  generous !"  she  exclaimed  ;  '*  and  to  the  daughter  of 
his  fiather's  enemy,  too !"  And  she  ran  away  to  detail  the 
whole  story  to  her  father,  with  a  volubility  she  seldom  exhibited. 

"  I  always  said  there  was  something  good  in  the  boy,''  said 
her  fiather.  "  We  must  have  him  among  us,  by  some  means. 
How  can  we  manage  it  ?" 

The  rising  painter  was  too  famous  to  be  despised;  and, 
besides,  to  add  him  to  his  circle  would  be  another  triumph  over 
old  Vernon. 


CHAPTER  V. 

"■  'Tif  beauty  trulj  blont,  whose  red  and  white 
Nature's  own  sweet  and  cunning  hand  laid  in.''— Twelfth  Night. 

**  There's  nothing  ill  can  dwell  in  such  a  temple." — Tbmfbst. 

With  the  earliest  rays  of  the  morrow's  suii,  Vernon  was 
engaged  again  upon  Cara's  portrait.  The  face  he  had  finished, 
with  the  exception  of  a  few  slight  touches,  the  evening  before ; 
he  was  now  to  paint  her  costume  and  arrange  the  back-ground. 
He  worked  still  with  the  same  assiduity  and  with  more  rapidity ; 
and  by  eleven  o'clock,  the  hour  at  which  he  opened  his  studio, 
the  picture  was  finished.  The  likeness  was  perfect,  both  in 
feature  and  expression. 

There  are  works,  which  can  be  done  only  under  the  impulse 
which  makes  them  desirable  ;  and  the  flash  of  genius  must  be 
arrested  and  fixed  in  the  moment  of  its  conception ;  else  it  will 
pass,  like  the  shadow  of  a  cloud  over  a  sunny  landscape,  to 
return  no  more.  Had  Vernon  taken  a  week  or  a  month  in 
which  to  paint  this  portrait,  he  would  never  have  been  able  to 
catch  the  intangible  expression,  which  was  in  fact  the  soul  of 
Cara's  face.  He  must  have  been  immediately  under  the  infla- 
ence  of  her  glance — and  its  powex,  loo,  not.  diec,T^%&^^  \s^  Wbit 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  49 


or  dimmed  by  change — to  have  caught  so  perfectly  the  hoveriog 
smile  and  the  ethereal  thought  of  her  varying  countenance.  As 
a  simple  work  of  art,  it  was  by  no  means  a  fine  picture — the 
execution  had  been  too  hasty  for  that ;  but  no  portrait  he  had 
painted  had  ever  so  perfectly  embodied  the  original,  no  face  had 
made  the  canvas  so  like  breathing  nature. 

He  was  still  gazing  at  it,  when  steps  on  the  gravelled  walk 
in  front  of  the  house,  announced  visitors.  He  opened  the  door 
and  the  original  stood  before  him,  accompanied  not  by  Thorpe 
this  time,  but  by  Major  Bryce  and  his  daughter.  Allen 
had  seen  the  Major  before,  but  not  for  several  months  ;  and  he 
shook  him  cordially  by  the  hand.  Cara  advanced  and  gavt 
him  her  hand  frankly  and  unostentatiously  ;  followed  by  Mary 
Bryce,  who  seemed  at  a  loss,  whether  to  treat  him  condescend* 
ingly  as  one  infinitely  beneath  her,  or  reverentially  as  one 
equally  her  superior.  She  succeeded  admirably  in  assuming 
neither  character,  and  impressed  him  truly,  as  one  whose  self- 
respect  was  not  equal  to  her  vanity,  and  whose  respect  for 
others  was  mingled  with  a  fear  and  defiance  of  an  anticipated 
assumption  of  superiority. 

"  I  did  not  intend,"  said  Cara,  "  to  disturb  you  so  early ;  but 
Major  Bryce  was  on  his  way  here  and  I  availed  myself  of  his 
escort." 

"Then  I  am  much  obliged  to  Major  Bryce,"  said  Allen, 
smiling,  "  for  I  was  just  wishing  you  were  here." 

"  For  what  purpose  ?"  she  asked. 

"  To  rectify  my  portrait  and  prove  its  features,"  said  he. 

"  Pa,  look  here,"  said  Mary  to  her  father ;  directing  his 
attention  to  a  row  of  portraits  ranged  along  the  wall.  Th6 
Major  walked  across  the  room  and  Cara  and  Vernon  were  alone. 

3 


50  TALBOT  AND  YEBNON. 


*<  What  portrait  ?"  she  asked. 

He  turned  the  rapidly-painted  picture  from  the  walL 

**  What !"  she  exclaimed ;  "  have  you  painted  that  since 
yesterday  V* 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  "  do  you  think  it  like  ?" 

«*  If  my  glass  be  a  true  one/*  she  answered,  "  it  is  perfect." 

**  I  had  thought,"  said  Allen,  as  they  both  stood  looking  at  it, 
"  that  I  would  not  show  you  this " 

"  Why  not  ?"  she  asked  quickly. 

<<  But,"  he  continued,  "  go  on  and  paint  another." 

'*  But,  why  ?"  asked  Cara ;  '*  this  is  c^tainly  as  perfect  as 
possible.* 

<<  Probably,"  said  he,  '<as  perfect  as  I  can  make  it;  but  so 
soon  finished  that  I  will  not  even  have  a  sitting." 

'*  Well,"  said  she,  ingeniously,  **  is  it  not  so  much  the  better." 

"  To  you,  perhaps,"  he  replied,  "  but  not  to  me." 

"  Why  V 

But  she  looked  up  into  his  face  and  waited  for  no  reply. 
She  felt  embarrassed,  and  wished  to  change  the  subject. 

"  I  have  not  thanked  you,"  she  said,  "for  allowing  me  to  be 
the  purchaser  of  that  fine  picture — — " 

"Purchaser!"  he  said.  "Purchaser!  ^ou  did  not  buy  it 
from  me !" 

"  No,"  said  she  timidly,  "  but  I  supposed  you  knew  from  ray 
manner  that  I  coveted  it  and " 

"  And  sent  it  to  you  as  a  purchaser,  you  would  say,"  inter- 
rupted Vernon.  "  You  are  mistaken.  Miss  Talbot ;  perhaps  I 
took  too  great  a  liberty  for  acquaintance  of  only  a  few  minutes 
standing.  But  you  were  the  first  who  had  fully  appreciated  it, 
ai2d  I  sent  it  to  you  because  you  kue^  thi^  value  of  it — ^had 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  61 


soul  enough  to  understand  it.  If  you  will  not  keep  it  on  these 
terms,  I  am  sorry ;  but  I  will  accept  no  price  for  it." 

"O !  she  exclaimed,  **  I  would  not  part  with  it  on  any  terms  I 
I  will  keep  it  most  gratefully.  But  since  you  have  given  me 
the  picture,  yon  must  do  me  another  favor— come  to  my  father's 
and  show  me  in  what  light  to  hang  it." 

Allen  hesitated,  and  she  perceived  it 

**  I  know,"  said  she,  advancing  more  closely  to  his  side — **  I 
know  what  you  would  say,  or,  at  least,  what  you  are  thinking ; 
our  parents  are  not  friends,  &c. ;  but  that  ought  not  to  make  us 


enemies." 


"  True,"  said  he,  gazing  earnestly  at  her ;  "  I  will  come." 

"  When  ?    Can  you  not  come  to-day  V* 

"  I  fear  not.     But  to-morrow,  perhaps." 

"  And  then,"  said  Cara  jestingly,  "  we  can  have  our  sittings 
there." 

"  You  must  allow  me  to  paint  another  picture  for  you,"  said 
Allen,  "  and  this  one  I  will  keep  myself." 

"We'll  see,"  said  Cara  ;  "  but  I  think  I  would  rather  have 
this  than  any  other." 

"  But  then,"  said  Allen,  smiling,  "what  shall  we  do  at  our 
sittings  ?" 

"  O,"  said  she  gaily,  "  we'll  find  enough  to  do — ^talk  about 
painting  and  poetry  and  sculpture  ;  and  then  you  shall  teaoh 
me  to  paint  in  oils  and  mix  colors.  O !  we  will  find  enough  to 
do!" 

"  Well,"  said  Vernon,  "  so  we  have  enough  to  keep  us  to- 
gether, I  shall  be  content." 

"  Miss  Bryce,  there,"  said  Cara,  smiling,  "  would  appear  to 
be  half  offended  at  such  a  speech  as  that ;  perhaps  she  would 


52  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 

cb^  yoo  in  the  mouth — a  pretty  formidable  demonstration,  too; 
but  she  would,  at  the  same  time,  be  as  much  pleased  as  I  am 
to  hear  it'* 

'*  What's  that  you  are  saying  to  Mr.  Vernon  about  me  ?''  said 
that  young  lady  tripping  across  the  room. 

"  Only  justifying  myself  by  citing  your  example,"  saidCara* 

<<  I  am  afraid/'  said  the  Major,  coming  forward,  **  that  your 
tttting  will  not  amoimt  to  much  to-day,  my  dear." 

**  The  picture  is  finished,"  said  Cara  pointing  to  it. 

*<  That's  capital,  upon  my  honor!"  exclaimed  the  old  gentle* 
man  ;  "  why  you  told  me  you  were  just  about  to  take. the  first 
sitting!" 

"  And  I  told  you  the  truth,"  said  Cara ;  "  that  picture  has 
been  painted  since  this  hour  yesterday." 

"What?  Since  yesterday  I"  exclaimed  the  Major;  "why 
you  are  equal  to  a  daguerrotypist." 

"  Oh !"  exclaimed  Mary,  tragically  thowing  her  fat  hands 
into  the  air,  "  isn't  that  hesL-tUiful?''  And  she  looked  as  if  it 
were  something  good  to  eat. 

"  Pshaw  !  Mary !"  said  her  father  ;  "  don't  be  so  rhapsodical ! 
Mx.  Vernon  probably  knows  the  value  of  the  picture  much 
better  than  you  do ;  you  need  not  enlighten  him." 

Mary  received  this  somewhat  rude  rebuke  with  an  exagge- 
ration of  wounded  feeling  truly  ridiculous ;  and  began  to  shake 
ber  hands,  and  agitate  her  chest,  as  if  about  to  faint. 

"  You  will  soon  have  a  scene  to  paint,"  said  Cara. 

"  I  hope  not,"  said  Vernon  earnestly. 

The  Major  understood  his  daughter's  humor,  and  paid  no 
•attention  to  her.  Like  most  fainting  people,  as  soon  as  she 
bund  her  fainting  produced  no  ex£'\\.eme\x\.  ^he  recovered,  and 


TALBOT  AND  VS^^ON.  53 


looked  as  little  like  swooning  as  ever.  A  glance  of  intelligence 
passed  between  Vernon  and  Cara,  in  which  the  Major  joined 
by  a  quiet  smile,  and  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders. 

''Mary,"  said  the  Major,  after  a  short  pause,  resuming  the 
conversation,  ^^  you  had  better  return  with  Cara  ;  she  will  set 
you  down  at  home ;  and  leave  me  here,  I  have  some  conver- 
sation for  Mr.  Vernon.'* 

**  Well,"  said  Cara,  "  since  we  are  not  to  have  our  sitting 
to-day,  I  will  go  immediately,  if  Mary  is  ready.  Kemember," 
said  she  to  Allen  as  they  passed  out,  ^^  I  shall  expect  you  tOr 
morrow,  to  advise  nte  about  the  painting." 

^  I  will  not  fail,"  said  the  latter ;  and  he  and  the  Major  were 
alone. 

^^  I  will  not  detain  3rou  long,"  said  that  gentleman,  as  he 
shut  the  door.  ^^  My  object  in  calling  on  you  was  to  ask  you 
how  you  would  like  to  have  an  opportunity  of  painting  some 
of  the  finest  scenery  in  the  world  ?" 

^^  Rather  a  superfluous  question,  I  should  think.  Major." 

**  True,  true ;  I  know  well  enough*  Thorpe  has  told  me 
that  he  thought  you  would  like  it  excessively ;  he  says  your 
talents  are  even  better  adapted  to  landscape,  than  to  portrait 
painting ;  and  he  thinks  you  would  like  to  exercise  them." 

"  What  can  Mr.  Thorpe  know  about  it  V*  said  Vernon  proudly. 

^^  He  did  not  wish  me  to  mention  his  name,"  said  Bryoe ; 
**  but  he  was  very  forcibly  struck  by  a  picture  of  yours — a  sun- 
set, which  I  have  also  seen  to-day  ;  and  he  thinks  I  might  be 
of  service  to  you  ;  and  I  think  so,  too  ;  and— damn  it,  man,  we 
are  cousins  anyhow — and — "  the  Major  stopped. 

"  I  am  very  grateful.  Major,"  said  Vernon,  smiling,  "  but  I 


04  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


do  not  see  how  I  am  to  have  this  opportunity,  even  by  youi 
aid." 

^^  Why,  you  see,  the  fact  is  this — ^I  may  as  well  oome  to  the 
point  first  as  last — I  have  information  that  we  are  on  the  eve 
of  a  war  with  Mexico — " 

^^  Of  that  I  presume  there  is  no  doubt,"  said  Allen. 

^^  Precisely,"  continued  the  Major ;  ^^  no  doubt  at  all,  as  yoa 
will  see  by  reading  that  letter."  He  handed  him  the  letter 
which  he  had  previously  shown  to  Thorpe  ;  Vernon  read  and 
returned  it. 

"  Well,"  the  Major  resumed,  "  in  the  event  of  a  war,  Mexico 
will  be  invaded,  and  the  army,  of  course,  will  need  Quarter- 
Masters.  I  have  already  written  to  accept  the  post  spoken  of 
in  that  letter,  in  advance ;  and  I  shall  be  with  the  army.  Now, 
Thorpe  says,  (and  I  don't  doubt  it,)  that  Mexieo  contains  some 
of  the  finest  scenery  in  the  world — " 

It  does,  indeed,"  said  Vernon,  thoughtfully. 

"Certainly,"  said  the  Major,  glad  to  be  corroborated,  "and 
It  is  fine  scenery  you  want  to  paint.  Besides  there  will  be  bat- 
tles, sieges,  marches,  bivouacs,  camps,  etc.,  etc.,  interminable ; 
then  there  are  the  long  train  of  wagons — "  and  the  Major, 
filled  with  recollections,  was  about  to  enumerate  all  the  trap- 
pings of  a  marching  army ;  but  Vernon  interrupted  him. 

"  All  very  true.  Major,"  he  said,  "  and  I  should  like  to  paint 
them  all — but  still  I  do  not  see  how  I  am  to  have  an  opportu- 
nity." 

"  Well  this  is  it,"  said  the  Major  at  last,  "  in  my  department 

there  are  many  posts — the  best  of  these  you  can  command,  and 

1  shall  doubtless  be  able  to  give  you  oue,  which  would  give  you 

the  means  of  support — I  know  thai  \\ke  m'^aeXl  ^wsi  ^x^  not 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  55 


rich — ^and,  at  the  same  time,  would  give  you  leisure  to  pursue 
your  art  as  diligently  and  constantly  as  you  might  desire.  Let 
118  come  to  the  point — would  it  suit  you  ?" 

<*  Suit  me !"  he  exclaimed.  ''  It  would  be  precisely  what  I 
desire !" 

**  Then  we  will  consider  it  settled/'  said  the  Major.  *<  And 
now,"  he  continued,  to  escape  Vernon's  expressions  of  grati- 
tude, **  you  must  come  to  my  house  to  dinner  to-morrow ;  we 
have  made  you  the  first  visit,  and  you  must  return  it,  you 
know." 

Vernon  accepted,  and  the  Major  left  him. 

ViThat  was  Thorpe's  design  in  all  this  ?  For  it  was  all  ar- 
ranged by  him,  and  the  Major  and  his  good  heart  were  really 
only  acting  from  Thorpe's  prompting.  He  had  observed  the  ad- 
miration of  Vernon  for  Cara,  and  her  ill  nature  after  their  visit 
He  was  too  sharp-sighted  to  be  deceived;  and  he  at  once 
saw  that  unless  he  could  withdraw  Vernon  from  her  society, 
into  which  he  seemed  likely  to  enier,  his  own  prospects  were 
null.  The  war,  he  hoped,  would  be  declared  immediately ;  in 
the  meantime  he  had  to  trust  to  his  own  ingenuity,  and  after- 
wards to  his  superior  advantages.  This  sudden  and  adroit 
combination  was  only  one  example  of  the  kind  of  stategy  he 
was  every  day  practising  successfully. 

Note. — The  fact  that  intimations,  like  this  related  of  Major  Bryce,  were 
f(ioen  to  Tarioas  persons,  before  it  was  certain  that  there  would  be  a  war, 
could  easily  be  proved,  if  it  were  of  sufficient  importance  to  merit  the 
investigation.  The  writer  of  this  note  was  himself  shown  a  letter  of  this 
character,  from  an  officer  in  one  of  the  departments  to  a  gentleman  in 
Gralveston,  Texas,  received  in  that  city  on  the  same  day,  to  wit,  the  20th 
of  March,  1846,  seven  weeks  before  the  declaration  of  war.  Whether 
these  things  were  authorized  or  not  is  of  little  consequence — the  Cacts 
themselves  only  showing  that  subsequent  events  were  foreseen  at  least  eip^ 
or  nine  weeM  before  they  transpired, 


CHAPTER    VI. 

t<  I  eumot  be  mine  own, 
Nor  anything  to  any,  if  I  be  not  thine.''— WinTKa'tTAL*. 

"  I  was  betrothed  that  day  ; 
I  wore  a  troth-kiss  on  ray  lip8, 1  would  not  giye  away. — lei.  B.  BnowiriRe. 

The  further  you  draw  a  pendulum  in  one  directiou,  the 
further  it  will  swing  in  the  opposite,  when  you  let  it  go.  Men 
of  reserved  habits,  when  their  reserve  is  once  overcome,  are 
generally  the  most  social  of  all.  This  observation  is  confined^ 
of  oourse,  to  those  whose  habits,  (and  does  not  extend  to  those 
whose  natures)  are  reserved ;  for  even  the  pendulum  will  not 
swing  away  from  the  point  where  gravitation,  (its  nature)  leads 
it. 

Alien  Vernon  was  only  reserved  by  habit ;  constitutionallyi 
no  man  was  more  social  or  less  morose.  He  was  impolsivQ^ 
too,  and  he  needed  only  an  attraction  to  withdraw  him,  at 
almost  any  time,  from  his  solitude.  He  was  somewhat  con* 
^ious  of  this,  and  had  avoided  everything  of  the  sort.  True, 
he  was  pi  poor  painter,  and  therefore  but  few  occasions  were 
afforded  him  upon  wbjch  to  exercise  his  self-denial.  But  now 
\ie  ha^  b.e.cpnip  ki^o^o,  wa^  ip  longer  struggling  against  starr 
vatlon — he  m^w  no  longer  in  absoln^j»  i?^  of  the  world's  ©on- 


TALBOT  AND  VSRNON.  57 

tenance,  and  consequently  the  world  began  to  smile  upon  him. 
Napoleon,  though  called  the  "  child  of  Fortune/'  strove  to  owe 
as  little  as  possible  to  her  favors,  conscious  that  she  was  most 
gracious  to  those  who  trusted  least  to  her.  So  it  is  with  every 
successful  man,  with  regard  to  what  is  called  •*  the  world." 
He  knows  that  the  more  independent  of  favor  he  can  make 
himself,  the  more  favors  he  will  receive ;  that  in  this,  as  in  al) 
other  things,  an  equilibrium  is  established,  by  the  law  of  which 
the  world  will  help  him,  precisely  in  proportion  as  he  does  not 
want  assistance,  and  he  will  be  absolutely  cast  off,  only  when 
his  means  of  helping  himself  are  absolutely  naught. 

Allen  began  to  be  an  object  of  interest  to  all  the  people  of 
fiEishion  who  had  heard  of  him ;  invitations  had  begun  to  pour 
in  on  him,  even  before  the  period  of  Cara's  visit,  all  of  which 
he^had  declined.  For  some  reason,  however,  as  soon  as  he  had 
made  up  his  mind  to  take  advantage  of  Cara's  invitation,  he 
suddenly  felt  like  accepting  all  others.  The  want  of  society 
began  to  be  felt ;  and  he  acknowledged  to  himself  that  he  had 
been  too  much  alone.  He  accepted  Major  Bryce's  invitation, 
not,  as  might  be  supposed,  because  that  gentleman  had  laid  him 
under  an  obligation,  but  because  of  his  rapidly-increasing  desire 
for  society.  The  habit  of  mind  produced  by  seclusion  was  fast 
giving  way ;  the  removal  of  the  force  which  had  made  him 
*  solitary,  was  likely  to  produce  a  sudden  bound  to  the  other  ex- 
treme. 

"  I  have  been  expecting  you  for  some  time,"  said  Cara,  as 
Vernon  entered  the  drawing-room  on  the  morning  appointed. 
As  she  spoke  she  advanced  from  the  window  in  which  she  had 
been  sitting,  and  gave  him  her  hand  with  almost  childish,  but 

graceful  simplicity. 

3* 


A8  TALBOT  AND  VEBNOK. 


**  I  am  sorry  then/'  said  be,  pressing  her  hand  elighUy,  and 
taking  the  seat  she  pointed  to,  "  that  you  had  not  a  more  plea- 
sant anticipation/' 

«*  How  ?"  she  asked. 

^<  Something  more  pleasant  to  look  forward  to  I  mean — " 
•  ''Than  a  visit  from  you?"  she  interrupted.    <*0!  nothing 
eonld  have  been  more  so,  I  assure  you." 

''  I  am  afraid  you  will  be  disappointed,  then,"  said  Allen 

"  O,"  said  she,  smiling,  "  I  am  not  afraid  of  that ;  and  I  say 
so  to  you,"  she  added,  with  some  emphasis,  **because  I  know 
you  are  above  the  foppery  whioh  would  speak  as  you  do,  only 
to  be  re-assured  by  a  compliment." 

"  I  am  indeed  !  be  exclaimed,  warmly ;  "  though  a  compli- 
ment from  you  is  the  only  thing  that  has  really  flattered  me  for 
years." 

"  Flattered  you  out  of  your  favorite  picture,  did  it  ?  Well, 
if  it  be  so,  you  shall  have  it  back— or,  stay,  we  can  compro- 
mise ;  it  shall  hang  here  as  yours,  while  I  will  have  the  enjoy- 
ment of  it." 

<'  No,  no,"  said  Allen,  catching  the  spirit  of  lightness  from 
her,  **  it  is  yours,  and  shall  remain  so ;  it  is  no  longer  my  favo- 
rite picture  either — I  have  got  a  substitute  in  my  aflections,  iu 
a  certain  portrait." 

"  I  am  afraid  I  shall  have  to  deprive  you  of  that,  too,"  said 
Cara ;  "  I  have  already  told  my  father  of  it,  and  he  is  very 
anxious  to  see  it." 

«•  I'll  take  a  copy  of  it,  then,"  said  Vernon. 

"  You  ought  not  to  have  told  me,"  said  she,  "  if  you  intend 
to  do  so ;  to  be  prudent,  I  should  forbid  you,  and  if  I  were 
imprudent  you  would  not  want  my  picture." 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  59 

"But,"  said  Allen,  "if  you  did  forbid  it,  I  would  not  be 
forced  to  obey  you  ;  I  have  not  sworn  allegiance— yet." 

"  Yet  ?"  said  she,  looking  at  him  surprised ;  "  do  you  intend 
ever  to  do  so  ?  If  yx)u  do,  you  must  give  me  notice  ;  for  it 
would  shake  my  nferves,  if  it  came  unannounced." 

"  Then,"  said  Allen  gaily,  "  1*11  prelude  it,  as  your  friend 
Miss  Bryce  does  her  commonplaces,  with  a  grand  flourish  of 
trumpets ;  and  when  you  hear  and  see  the  signs,  expect  a 
6torm." 

"  Nay,"  said  Cara,  "  if  you  are  of  the  stormy  mood,  you  had 
better  select  Mary  for  your  lady-love." 

"  I  am  not  very  stormy,"  said  Allen.  "  Let  me  show  you 
how  I  should  approach  you,  if  I  were  about  to       •  " 

**  If  you  were  !"  she  exclaimed,  "  and  are  you  not  ?". 

"  Let  me  show  you,"  said  he.  As  he  spoke,  he  passed  from 
the  seat  he  had  occupied,  and  taking  her  hand  sank  half 
kneeling  by  her  side.  At  the  same  moment  he  carried  her  hand 
to  his  lips  and  looking  up,  whispered — 

"  What  is  my  fate  ?" 

"O!  admirable  I"  she  exclaimed.  "You  shall  be  accepted 
by  all  means — whenever  you  do  that  again." 

"  Is  it  a  bargain  ?"  said  he,  half  seriously. 

"  Certainly,"  said  she,  "  have  I  not  said  it,  and  is  it  part  of  a 
lady^s  character  to  be  regardless  of  her  word  ?" 

"  Remember,  then,"  said  he,  now  quite  seriously,  "  whenever 
I  do  the  same  again,  your  answer  shall  be  favorable.  Is  it 
agreed  ?" 

"  Decidedly,"  she  answered,  "  and  now  let  us  go  and  see  the 
proper  light  for  the  *  Sunset.'  Ought  it  to  be  in  a  bright  light, 
or  should  the  light  be  softened  ?" 


60  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 

«  It  will  make  but  little  difference/  said  Allen ;  **  for  th^re 
are  no  shadows  in  it,  except  such  as  are  relative  to  another 
point  in  the  picture,  which  is  central.  If  the  light  were  lateral 
and  vertical  or  either,  the  light  in  which  you  place  it  would  be 
very  material ;  but  it  is  central  and  horizontal,  and  therefore 
depends  upon  no  accessories." 

**  Is  that  a  principle  of  painting  V*  she  asked. 

"  It  is  only  a  principle  of  arranging  paintings,"  said  he,  as  he 
followed  her  through  a  door,  and  found  himself  in  the  most 
tastefully-arranged  and  chastely-furnished  room  he  had  ever 
seen.  It  was  small — perhaps  not  more  than  fifteen  feet  square, 
and  lighted  by  only  one  window ;  over  which  was  now  drawn 
a  rich,  heavy  curtain  of  the  finest  crimson  damask,  which  lay 
in  folds  upon  the  soft,  noiseless  carpet.  This  latter  was  of  the 
kind  called  tapestry  carpet — a  pattern  in  which  the  same 
crimson  hue  so  predominated  as  at  first  sight  to  appear  plain 
unmixed  red.  On  closer  inspection,  however,  you  discovered 
that  nearly  every  color  of  the  rainbow  was  thrown  upon  it  with 
almost  the  art  of  the  painter — all  blending  and  harmonizing  in 
the  one  hue,  presenting  no  startling  contrasts  and  no  tasteless 
combinations.  The  singularity  of  the  taste  was  enhanced,  too, 
by  the  fact  that  it  was^an  architectural  pattern  ;  and  on  follow- 
ing the  figures  with  your  eye,  you  found  every  conceivable  sort 
of  building,  and  every  known  order  of  architecture ;  from  the 
massive,  solemn,  and  yet  attractive  Gothic,  through  the 
mongrel,  and  yet  beautiful  Composite,  the  grave  and  severe 
Doric,  the  simple  and  graceful  Ionic  and  the  (xnamental,  and 
sometimes  ostentatious  Corinthian — through  them  all  even  to 
the  stately,  yet  dreamy  and  distant  Moorish.  Here,  too,  were 
grand  cathedrals,  stately  temples,  graceful   porticos,  massive 


TALBOT  AND  YIOUION.  01 

cfacurehes,  Mohammedan  moBqnes  crowned  by  the  shining 
crescent.  Beautifal  cottages,  upon  the  banks  of  running 
streams,  embowered  in  willows,  with  playfol  children  at  the 
door;  and  winding  walks  among  old  oak  trees  and  waving 
shrubs ;  quiet  lakes,  set  like  jewels  among  hoary,  moss-grown 
rocks ;  and  upon  their  silent  shores  were  shining  temples  erected 
to  the  guardian  spirits  of  the  solitude ;  here  stretched  in  long 
perspective  a  weary  desert,  and  far  in  the  distance  stood  a  cool 
oasis  with  its  mosque^haped  fountain,  and  a  camel  and  Ara- 
bian travellers  asleep ;  here  was  a  mausoleum^  and  at  one  side 
stood  a  child  with  sunny  though  saddened  face,  strewing  flowers 
over  the  dead ;  the  same  winding  line  which  in  one  place  was 
a  gravelled  walk,  in  others  became,  successively,  a  musical 
stream,  a  desert  path  and  the  trunk  of  a  stately  palm ;  a  sptot 
which  in  one  point  of  view  was  a  large  leaf  waving  in  the 
wind,  in  others  became  the  dome  of  a  mosque,  the  arch  of  a 
ruined  bridge,  and  the  gateway  of  a  palace ;  the  mazes  of  a 
forest  changed  as  you  changed  your  station,  and  became  at  once 
the  nave  of  a  vast  cathedral,  the  hoary  trunks  becoming  col- 
umns and  the  foliage  the  fretted  roof;  as  you  traced  the  lines 
you  were  lost  in  inextricable  windings,  and  you  ended  by  seeing 
only  the  first  impression,  a  quivering  surface  of  shadowy  forms, 
all  merged  in  the  predominant  crimson. 

In  keeping  with  the  floor  were  the  walls  and  ceiling — the 
latter  painted  with  harmonious  colors,  all  verging  in  broad  but 
ever-decreasing  lines  of  waving  hues,  until  they  all  ended  at 
once,  and  seemed  to  begin  in  the  centre.  From  that  centre, 
calm,  serene,  and  watchful,  its  almost  unearthly  brightness  in- 
creased by  the  crimson  hues,  looked  down  a  large,  deep-mean- 
ing eye,  from  which  half  the  light  in  the  room  seemed  to  pro- 


(^  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


ceed.  The  walls  were  covered  with  paper,  of  which  the  pre* 
dominant  color  was  a  light  purple  ;  and  hung  along  three  sides 
of  it  were  some  twenty  or  more  pictures,  each  so  placed  as  to 
receive  and  reflect  the  mellow  light  of  the  single  window. 
The  furniture  was  in  keeping  with  the  decorations — light,  fan- 
tastic, and  appropriate — bronzed  and  painted  in  perfect  keeping, 
and  so  arranged  as  to  fill  the  room,  and  yet  not  crowd  it.  The 
frail  ottomans,  the  light  chairs,  the  small  divan,  and  the  minia- 
ture tables — each  seemed  to  have  been  made  for  each,  and  all  for 
this  room.  Even  the  books  on  the  graceful  shelves  were  bound 
all  in  crimson,  and  preserved  the  unity  of  the  design. 

Immediately  in  front  of  the  window  stood  Cara,  the  divinity 
who  had  created  and  presided  over  all  this  chaste  magnificence, 
h^r  face  suffused  by  the  crimson  hues,  and  her  lips  parted  by  a 
smile,  gazing  earnestly  at  Allen's  **  Sunset,"  which  stood  lean- 
ing against  the  wall,  exactly  opposite  to  her.  The  light,  mel- 
lowed and  deepened  by  the  curtain,  fell  in  rich,  soft,  luxurious 
beams  full  upon  the  painting — ^not  glaringly,  so  as  to  conceal 
any  of  its  peculiar  delicacy  of  coloring,  but  strongly,  so  as  to 
bring  out,  and  thoroughly  define,  every  one  of  its  luminous  and 
splendid  outlines. 

For  a  moment  Allen  gazed  upon  the  scene  before  him,  no^ 
ticing  nothing  but  the  splendor  and  taste  of  the  accessories.  In 
his  circuit  of  observation  his  eye  rested  upon  hers ;  and  arrested, 
and  almost  spell-bound,  his  gaze  fixed  itself  upon  hers.  Had 
she  been  an  adept  in  the  science  of  magic,  she  could  not  have 
contrived  a  situation  more  likely  to  make  a  poet  or  a  paiatei 
worship  her  with  ail  his  soul.  She  looked  at  him  a  moment, 
and  her  eye  fell — she  sank  half-smiling,  half-frightened,  upon 
an  ottomans    He  advanced  rapidly  to  her  side — took  her  hand 


TALBOT  AND  VERNQir.  fS8 

in  his — carried  it  to  his  lips,  and,  sinking  upon  one  knee,  looked 
up  into  her  face,  and  whispered  impetuously  and  passionately — 

*'  What  is  my  fate  ?  You  t(^d  me  you  would  accept  me  ;  do 
not — ^nay,  you  cannot  reject  me  !*' 

She  withdrew  her  hand  suddenly  and  covered  her  face. 

"  I  cannot,  indeed !''  she  murmured.  *'  But  I  cannot  accept 
you,  either !  I  am — "  She  hesitated,  and  then  continued 
rapidly  to  herself:  ''Why  should  I  tell  him  so  ?  I  am  free  I** 
iShe  was  silent,  but  her  breath  came  thick  and  fast.  By  d^ 
grees  she  recovered  her  composure.  She  looked  up  after  m 
while,  and  laying  her  hand  on  his,  spoke. 

•*  You  took  me  by  surprise,**  she  said,  gently;  "  1  was  not 
prepared  for  it — so  soon.*'  She  smiled  again,  and  continued. 
*'  Painters  are  all  alike,  I  believe — impetuous  and  startling. 
But  we  must  say  no  more  of  this — ^now ;  some  other  time,  per- 
haps, if  you  wish — not  now.  And  besides,**  she  added  after  n 
pause,  *'  this  is  not  the  place  for  such  things — this  is  my  private 
drawing-room,  and  no  young  gentleman  was  ever  before  in  it, 
except — **  She  stopped  a  moment,  but  went  on  almost  imme* 
diately.  "Well,  well — no  matter.  We  came  here  to  talk 
about  that  picture — .  Come,  come,**  she  continued,  playfully 
laying  her  hand  on  his  lips.  *<  don't  break  out  into  passionate 
prayers,  like  the  heroes  of  novels — praying  for  hope,  &c.,  &c. ; 
for,  like  them,  if  you  had  it  not  already,  you  would  not  pray 
for  it  ?** 

"  Well,"  said  he,  smiling  faintly — for  she  had  talked  him 
into  self-possession  again-^"  at  least  you  have  not  rejected  me ; 
and  I  may  hope,  then.** 

"  Hope  ?**  said  she,  looking  round  at  him  in  the  most  matter- 
of-fact  way  imaginable — "  Hope  ?     Certainly.     Why  not  ?** 


64  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


*<  You  are  the  strangest  creature  I  ever  saw !"  he  exclaimed. 

«  Why  V*  she  asked  suddenly  ;  "  because  I  allow  a  gentleman, 
whom  I  have  not  known  three  days,  kiss  my  hand,  and  almost 
clasp  me  in  his  arms,  in  my  private  apartments  ?"  That  is  a 
little  strange,  I  must  confess." 

"  O  !  no  !*'  he  began. 

*'  Pshaw  !''  said  she,  laughing — *'  I  understand  you,  of  course. 
And  now  let  me  say  one  word — and  mind,  you  are  to  receive 
it  as  a  law  of  the  Medes — never  mind  protestations — it  is  this : 
you  are  not  to  mention  this  subject  to  me  again  for  twenty  days 
— by  that  time  my  resolution  will  be  formed.  And,  remember, 
you  do  not  know  the  reason  why  I  make  this  stipulation,  and, 
therefore,  you  are  not  to  be  impatient  of  it." 

«*  That  were  impossible,"  he  said. 

**  Did  you  not  paint  my  portrait  in  twelve  hours,  and  is  this 
more  impossible  than  that  ?" 

"I  promise,"  said  Allen,  and  they  turned  to  the  picture. 
Cara  talked  about  the  efifect  of  lights  and  shades,  colors  and 
tints,  with  as  much  calmness  as  if  nothing  had  occurred. 
Allen,  too,  soon  recovered  his  composure ;  and  when  they  re- 
turned to  the  drawing-room,  and  found  Colonel  Talbot  there, 
he  met  him  as  calmly  as  if  he  bad  known  him  all  his  life.  As 
Major  Bryce's  dinner  hour  approached,  he  took  leave,  having 
received  and  made  a  decidedly  "  favorable  impression." 


CHAPTER    VII. 

"  He  that  will  have  a  cake  out  of  the  wheat. 
Mast  tarry  the  grinding/'    Troilus  and  CaKsiioA. 

**  I  MUST  get  this  painter  out  of  the  way  as  soon  as  possible/' 
j^id  Thorpe  to  himself,  as  he  left  the  Major's.  **  He  is  pre- 
cisely the  man  to  undermine  all  my  plans  in  life ;  and  I  am 
resolved  that  shall  not  be  done.  If  I  can  get  him  out  of  the 
way  a  year  or  two — or  even  six  months — I  can  so  entrench 
myself  as  not  to  fear  him.  At  all  events  I  must  prevent  her 
seeing  him  often,  or  even  at  all,  if  I  can — and  I  can,  surely." 

We  have  seen  the  rapidity  and  dexterity  with  which  he 
seized  upon  the  first  opportunity  to  effect  his  object.  Calmly, 
deliberately  and  skilfully,  he  insinuated  his  scheme  into  the 
mind  of  the  unsuspecting  Major,  who  thought  he  was  doing  an 
act  dictated  by  his  own  goodness  of  heart.  In  order  the  more 
firmly  to  secure  his  success,  he  wrote  an  application,  which  ho 
persuaded  the  Major  to  forward  to  Washington,  (after  having 
it  signed  by  a  large  number  of  infiuential  citizens,)  setting  out 
his  merits,  and  asking  for  his  appointment  to  the  post  of  Quarter 
Master.  With  the  interest  the  Major  already  had  at  the  Capitol» 
this  was  sufficient  to  make  him  secure. 

This  was  done  on  the  day  following  Cara's  first  visit  to  Ver- 
non's studio  ;  and  after  mailing  the  petition,  Thorpe  was  vexed 


66  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


to  find  on  repairing  to  Colonel  Talbot's,  that  Cara  had  already 
gone  to  make  her  second  visit.  He  was  vexed,  because  he  had 
intended  to  accompany  her  ;  and  he  trusted  to  his  dexterity  and 
the  fact  of  his  being  forewarned  of  the  danger,  to  enable  him  to 
escape  it,  and  prevent  her  being  more  impressed  by  the  young 
painter  than  she  was  already.  "  One  visit,"  he  however 
thought,  as  he  turned  away,  *'  cannot  make  much  difference ; 
and  the  next  time  she  goes  I  shall  be  with  her.  In  the  mean- 
time,"  he  continued,  after  a  pause,  "  Mary  is  jealous  of  Cara — 
thinks  I  am  too  attentive  to  her — ^I  must  cultivate  that ;  and 
to-day  the  Major  will  invite  Vernon  to  his  house.  I  must  be 
there  so  that  Mary  will  be  induced  to  lay  herself  out  for  him,  tp 
pique  me — "  he  paused — "Yes,  that  will  do,^and  if  Mary  does 
not  take  his  attention  the  case  is  hopeless  ;  but  he  is  not  very 
experienced,  and  her  free  manners  must  capture  him — at  least 
for  a  time.  She  will  capture  herself,  too ;  and  then  I  will  draw 
the  Major  off,  and  leave  them  alone,  and  I  am  more  mistaken 
than  ever  I  was  in  my  life,  if  she  does  not  hurry  him  into  some 
demonstration  friendly  to  my  interests.  Maria  must  do  her 
best,  too— at  least,  must  not  be  in  the  way.  I  must  drill  her 
beforehand."  And  he  proceeded  to  arrange  his  schemes.  We 
have  seen  how  they  were  prospering.  He  knew  nothing  <5f 
Vernon's  sending  Cara  the  "  Sunset,"  and  was  so  intent  upon 
his  arrangements  that  he  did  not  re-appear  at  Colonel  Talbot's 
until  a  few  moments  after  Allen  had  left  there  for  Major  Bryce's. 

"You  did  not  wait  for  me  yesterday,"  he  said  to  Cara  ;  "you 
must  have  been  in  has^e  to  see  the  handsome  painter." 

"  I  was,"  said  she,  coolly,  "  and  I  suppose  you  were  not,  at 
least,  you  did  not  seem  to  be." 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  67 


"  I  was  detained/'  he  said,  "  longer  than  I  supposed,  until  1 
looked  at  my  watch — " 

**  O/'  said  she,  indifferently,"  it  made  no  difference ;  you  are 
here  now — so  make  no  apologies." 

**  You  were  a  little  petulant,  ^ara,"  said  he,  '*  when  I  saw 
you  last,  and  I  see  you  have  not  got  over  it  yet.  Have  I  said 
or  done  anything  to  incur  your  displeasure  ?" 

"  You  ivill  do  something,  Morris,"  said  Can,  coldly,  *'  if  yoa 
preserve  that  tone  to  me.  I  think  you  might  lay  aside  the 
manner  of  admonition  now ;  I  am  old  enough  to  be  emanci- 
pated." 

"  Cara,"  said  he,  gravely,  taking  her  hand,"  if  you  are  dis- 
pleased with  me,J[  am  sorry  for  it ;  but  I  cannot  but  say  that 
whatever  my  manner  may  be,  it  is  prompted  by  no  motive  but 
intense  anxiety  for  your  good." 

"Well,  well,"  she  said  impatiently,"  I  know  all  that  of 
course ;  but  still  I  think  you  treat  me  too  much  as  if  you  were 
the  teacher  and  I  the  pupil.  Now  we  do  not  stand  in  any  such 
relation  to  each  other — ^I  mean  we  are  not  in  any  relation  resent 
bling  that,  and  probably  will  not  be — not  for  a  long  time  at 
any  rate  ;  and  you  sometimes  offend  me  by  assuming  too  much 
of  the  monitor— I  cannot  bear  it." 

This  was  all  very  plausible ;  but  Thorpe  was  altogether  too 
clear-sighted  not  to  see,  that  some  other  reason  was  at  the  hoU 
torn  of  what  he  very  properly  called  her  petulance.  His  man- 
ner was  not  different  from  what  it  had  been  for  a  long  time- 
indeed,  ever  since  he  had  first  paid  any  attention  to  her  ;  on  the 
contrary  if  changed  at  all,  he  had  assumed  less  of  the  admoni- 
tory in  the  last  three  days  than  had  been  his  custom.  Yet  now 
appeared  an  i^ipatience,  which  she  had  never  shown  before.    She 


68  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


bad  always  received  his  attentions  and  admonitions  with  the 
docility  belonging  to  her  character.     His  manner,  too,  was  that 
adopted  after  mature  deliberation,  and  founded  on  very  accurate 
and  deep  knowledge  of  her  character.     She  was  gentle,  tracta- 
ble, and  easily  accessible  to  evRry  species  of  feeling ;  although 
when  aroused  neither  he  nor  any  one  else  could  govern  or 
change  her  ;  yet,  (a  seeming  contradiction,)  this  slightly  dicta- 
torial manner  was  that  least  likely  to  make  her  rebel.     He  had 
always  veiled   his  more  severe   censures   under  deep  solici- 
tude ;  and  had  generally  succeeded  in  making  her  believe  that 
it  gave  him  far  more  pain  to  perceive,  than  it  did  her  to  be  ad- 
monished of  any  of  her  very  frequent  misdei^eanbrs.  *  Very 
frequent  they  were,  too,  if  we  were  to  judge  of  their  frequency 
by  the  number  of  Thorpe's  delicate  and  well-considered  censures. 
In  reality  she  was  never  guilty  of  positive  imprudence  ;  but  she 
was  su^ciently  thoughtless  often  to  act  in  such  a  manner  as  to 
give  one  of  his  ingenuity  an  opportunity  to  color  and  represent  her 
actions  in  an  unfavorable  light.     If  the  policy  which  induced 
him  to  take  this  course  was  over-acted,  it  was  only  because  by 
its  very  refinement  it  required  capacities  and  watchfulness 
which  even  he  was  not  able  to  bring  to  his  assistance.     It  was 
only  for  this  reason ;  for  he  calculated  correctly  that  assuming 
that  tone  would  be  far  more  likely  to  give  him  the  influence  he 
desired  than  any  other  course.     That  influence  he  had  certainly 
acquired  ;  and  up  to  the  present  time  it  had  been  gradually  but 
Steadily  increasing — assisted  by  ahnost  every  prominent  trait 
of  her  light,  gentle  and  impulsive  character.     To  find  her  im- 
patient of  it  now,  was  therefore  a  new  feature  of  the  aflair, 
which  would  have  puzzled  a  man  less  acute.     He  was  not, 
iowever,   the  least  in  the  dark.    He  \,\\otow^Vv\Y  uudetstood 


TALBOT  AM)  YERNON.  69 


Cara,  and  he  was  not  ignorant  of  any  of  her  movements. 
When,  therefore,  she  spoke  to  him  as  we  recorded  at  the  begin- 
ning of  tiiis  ill-timed  explanation,  he  knew  precisely,  even  bet- 
ter than  she  did,  what  was  moving  her.  It  was  not,  however, 
his  policy  to  seem  to  know ;  that  wonld  have  mined  all ;  but  he 
still  pretended  to  think  that  nothing  but  what  she  had  spc^en 
of  had  any  influence  in  producing  her  petulance.  He  bent  his 
bead,  and  cast  his  eyes  upon  the  floor,  as  if  to  recall  some  oc-ca- 
sion  upon  which  he  had  so  acted  or  spoken,  as  to  merit  her  dis- 
pleasure. 

"I  cannot  recollect,  Cara,"  he  said  gently,  and  his  soft, 
musical  voice  was  still  more  soft  and  musical  than  usual,  **  I 
cannot  recollect  an  instance  in  which  I  have  not  spoken  to  you 
kindly,  at  least — certainly  I  have  never  felt  otherwise  ;  and  this 
you  should  know." 

*'  Pshaw  I''  said  she  rising,  "  let  us  say  no  more  of  it.  I  dare 
say  I  was  wrong,  to  be  petulant — and  this  is  the  second  time 
I  have  made  this  acknowledgment  to  you  in  three  days.  You 
ought  to  be  satisfied  with  that." 

"  It  is  not  I,  Cara,  who  am  dissatisfied,"  said  he ;  "I  was 
only  regretting  that  you  were  displeased  \yith  me." 

"  Well,  well,"  said  she,  attempting  though  unsuccessfully  to 
resume  her  usual  light  manner,  *<  I  suppose  you  are  right,  as 
usual,  and  I  am  wrong — so  let  us  say  no  more  about  it." 

"  Willingly,"  said  he,  frankly  ;  "  and  in  future,  Cara,  I  will 
be  careful  how  I  assume  the  tone  of  an  interested  friend." 

"  Interested  I"  she  exclaimed,  "  it  is  time  I — "  but  she  did  not 
finish  the  sentence.  "  Never  mind,"  she  answered  to  his 
inquiring  look,  "  I  was  not  about  to  say  anything— only,  be 
sure  you  do  as  you  say." 


70  TALBOT  AND  VBRNON. 


He  had  feathered  the  shaft  with  injured  friendship,  but  it  had 
missed  its  aim.  **  I  must  wait/'  he  thought,  **  and  the  time 
will  oome."  He  remained  with  her  only  a  few  minutes  longer; 
and  bidding  her  good  morning  took  his  way  to  Major  Bryce's. 
For  the  first  time  in  her  life,  Cara  felt  relieved  on  \ns  departure. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

*  The  compensatioD  which  thou  Mekeat  here 
Will  be  denied.-'— Shellet. 

"  A  fhow  of  mummery  without  a  meaning."— Rowb. 

Vernon  was  received  by  Major  Bryce  with  the  cordial, 
though  somewhat  ostentatious,  courtesy  which  marked  his 
manner  on  all  occasions.  He  met  him  at  the  door  and  took  him 
into  his  own  private  room,  when  he  again  showed  him  the 
letter  which  he  had  exhibited  to  Thorpe ;  after  which  he  led 
him  away  into  the  drawing-room  and  impressively  introduced 
him  to  Miss  Maria  Thorpe,  who  sat  reading  at  a  window.  She 
laid  down  her  book  and  came  forward  a  step  or  two,  slightly 
inclining  her  head,  and  throwing  a  keen  glance  over  Allen,  as 
if  to  take  his  measure. 

"  I  believe,"  said  she,  in  the  most  insinuating  tone  conceiv- 
able, **  I  believe  I  can  claim  some  consanguinity  with  Mr. 
Vernon.  I  hope  you  have  enlightened  him.  Major,  on  that 
subject?*' 

"  One  who  has  such  a  right,"  said  Allen  politely,  "  ought  not 
to  need  enlightening.     I  am  glad  to  be  reminded  of  the  fact." 

"  Is  Morris  to  be  with  us  to-day  ?"  asked  the  Major. 

"Really  I  cannot  tell,"  said  Maria ;  "I  suppose  Mary  will 
know."     She  smiled  significantly,  as  if  to  say,  **  at  all  events 


72  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 

she  ought  to  knovtr,  since  she  is  in  his  secrets/*     The  Major  felt 
like  a  father. 

"  What  is  that  I  will  know  ?"  asked  Mary,  entering  the  room, 
like  Iser,  "  rolling  rapidly."  She  was  dressed  immoderately, 
wearing  twice  as  much  "  finery"  as  would  have  sufficed  to  deck 
out  even  her  enormous  size — ^but  all  "pitched  upon  her"  and 
hanc^ins:  about  her  in  the  most  ludicrous  and  outri  fieishion. 
Not  an  article  of  her  wardrobe — for  she  wore  one — was  put  oa 
or  worn  with  either  taste  or  elegance ;  and  the  only  idea  she 
seemed  to  have  of  dress,  was  the  amount  of  money  she  could 
sink  in  the  dry  goods  on  her  person.  Stilh,  her  decidedly  fine 
face  would  have  redeemed  the  coarseness  of  her  form,  had  not 
the  afiectation  and  awkwardness  of  her  very  fairy-like  move- 
ments, constantly  drawn  attention  to  it.  As  she  passed  across 
the  room,  she  suddenly  perceived  Vernon — apparently,  she  had 
not  seen  him  before.  She  halted  "with  a  round  turn,"  as 
boatmen  say,  and  rushed  towards  him. 

"  How  glad  I  am,  you  have  come  I"  she  exclaimed,  throwing 
up  her  hands  in  well-acted  surprise.  "  Why  did  you  not  tell 
me  Mr.  Vernon  was  here,  Maria  ?"  She  took  his  hand,  warmly 
pressing  it,  and  gave  him  a  look  of  awful  tenderness,  which  he 
did  not  understand.  She  then  threw  herself  violently  into  a 
chair,  and  drawing  a  long  breath,  seemed  overcome  with 
delight.  Maria  did  not  think  it  necessary  to  answer  her  very 
reasonable  question ;  and  a  moment  afterwards  Thorpe  entered. 
With  one  glance  as  he  crossed  the  threshold,  he  took  in  the 
whole  scene,  dwelling  for  a  moment  upon  Mary  as  she  sat  near 
Vernon,  and  then  calmly  turning  away. 

"  I  hope  I  have  not  kept  you  waiting,  Major,"  said  he,  seat- 
Jii£r  himself  opposite  to  Mary. 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  73 

*<  That  question,  one  would  think,  ought  to  have  been  ad- 
dressed to  the  ladies,*'  said  Maria,  laughing. 

'*  If  it  had  been  on  a  less  unromantic  subject,  3rou  would  be 
right,"  said  her  brother ;  '<  but,  certainly,  being  detained  from 
eating  ought  not  to  offend  a  delicate  woman." 

*'  Is  eating,  then,"  asked  Allen,  **  incompatible  with  delicacy." 

"  By  no  means,"  said  Thorpe ;  "  on  the  contrary,  rather, 
unce  there  is  nothing  really  more  indelicate  than  pretending 
abstinence.  For  nearly  all  who  mince  at  the  table,  are  far 
from  being  so  particular  afterwards." 

•*  1  like  to  see  a  woman  eat  well,"  said  the  Major. 

*'  And  so  do  I,"  answered  Thorpe  ;  *'  but  eating  well  has  re- 
ference to  more  things  than  quantity.  One  woman  may  eat 
twice  as  much  as  another,  and  yet  the  latter  may  be  an  liun- 
dredfold  more  gross  and  indelicate  than  the  former." 

"  How  so  ?"  asked  Allen. 

"  Delicacy,"  continued  Thorpe,  to  whom  the  lead  in  the  con- 
versation was  as  usual  tacitly  conceded — *'  Delicacy  is  a  much 
larger  term  than  quantity,  including,  nay,  consisting  in  manner 
and  form  more  than  in  substance.  A  woman  who  goes  about 
eating  as  if  the  dinner  hour  were  the  hour  for  which  all  other 
hours  were  made,  may  not  eat  more  in  quantity  than  she  ought 
to  eat ;  yet,  she  betrays  at  the  same  time,  by  the  manner  in 
which  she  gobbles  it  up-^<  makes  a  business  of  it'-^-that  her 
ideas,  and  consequently  her  sentiments  are  not  above  a  ccmimcm 
animal  appetite." 

<«  You  must  have  been  much  disgusted  at  some  time,"  said 
Vernon,  "to  be  so  severe  in  your  sketch." 

"  I  have  been,"  said  the  other,  *»  very  often,  too." 

"  Well,"  said  the  Major,  "  we  must  all  be  on  ou?  guard  5 
4 


74  TALBOT  AND  VBRNON. 


lor  some  of  us  may  sit  for  our  portraits  when  we  are  not  aware 
of  it." 

**  How  severe  cousin  Morris  is !"  said  Mary,  in  a  confidential 
aside  to  Allen.  Thorpe  affected  .to  observe  her  furtively,  and 
thus  encouraged,  (the  effect  he  designed  to  produce,)  she  be- 
came rapidly  more  and  more  exclusive  and  confidential— osten- 
tatiously so,  indeed — until  she  seemed  no  longer  conscious  of 
the  presence  of  any  other  person  but  her  interlocutor.  She 
seemed  to  be  no  longer  conscious ;  but  Thorpe  observed  her 
now  and  then  casting  a  side-glance  at  him,  as  if  to  note  the 
progress  she  made.  When  she  did  so,  he  generally  contrived 
to  give  her  the  impression  that  he  was  jealously  watching  her ; 
and  this  served  to  quicken  her  attack.  At  the  same  time,  he 
kept  up  an  easy,  flowing  conversation  with  the  Major  and  bis 
sister,  in  which  he  never  lost  a  word,  nor  failed  to  preserve  the 
thread. 

Vernon  was  inexperienced,  and  unsuspicious ;  so  that  this 
assault,  horse,  foot,  and  artillery,  as  it  were,  almost  over- 
whelmed him.  He  strove,  however,  to  keep  up  a  decent  show 
of  seconding  her,  and  became,  apparently,  as  much  interested 
as  she  was.  He  spoke  fluently  and  elegantly,  and  all  his  elo- 
quence was  called  out  by  the  deference  and  interest  with  which 
jhe  listened,  and  the  exaggerated  pleasure  she  exhibited  in 
listening.  He  was,  in  reality,  less  interested  than  Thorpe  sup- 
posed^^perhaps  less  so  than  he  supposed  himself ;  for  the  sad- 
denness  and  impetuosity  of  her  onslaught  had  carried  away  his 
flefencps,  aQ4  made  him  join  in  the  advance,  without  once 
thinkipg  whpth^if  ftie  pipv^meot  were  true  or  false.  She  was 
altogether  a  new  chafaptef  to  ^in^ ;  p,niyWt  having  been  fore- 
armed  by  experience,  h©  was  at  oxui^  ^f^xi'v^  A^W^  the  tide. 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  75 

^^  Let  that  continue  an  hour  each  day  for  a  we^k"  thought 
Morris,  **  and  my  game  is  won." 

But  on  this  occasion  it  did  not  last  so  long.  A  servant  threw 
the  doors  open,  and  announced  dinner.  Let  not  ihe  reader  be 
alarmed;  we  shall  not  trouble  him  with  a  description  of  the 
table,  the  decorations  of  the  room,  the  liveries  of  the  servants, 
or  the  small  talk  and  large  eating  of  the  guests.  Of  all  the 
modes  of  spending  time  together,  yet  invented  by  social  beings, 
the  dinner-party  is  the  most  stupid.  Let  it  suffice,  therefore, 
that  the  Major's  table  was  well  furnished,  and  that  those  who 
sat  down  to  it  did  justice  to  the  viands.  Mary  Bryce,  espe- 
cially, notwithstanding  the  severe  remarks  of  her  '^  cousin 
Morris,"  took  especial  pains  to  have  her  plate  well  provided, 
and  soon  unloaded — a  process  in  which  she  was  very  skilful. 
She  did  not,  however,  £ail  to  continue  her  impressive  attentions 
to  Allen  ;  nor  did  she  neglect  to  look  occasionally  at  Thorpe, 
by  way  of  enjoying  her  fancied  triumph.  That  gentleman 
was  calm,  collected,  and  polished,  both  in  manner  and  conver- 
sation ;  but  he  contrived  to  put  on,  in  the  eyes  of  Mary  Bryce, 
an  uneasiness  which  was  more  perceptible  in  his  occasional 
glances,  than  in  anything  else.  As  the  dinner  proceeded,  this 
gradually  increased ;  and  in  exact  proportion  to  this  increase, 
was  the  openness  and  freedom  of  Mary's  manner  towards  Allen. 
So  dexterously  did  he  manage  his  game,  that  towards  the  end 
of  the  repast,  even  the  Major's  attention  was  attracted  from 
the  viands  with  which  his  plate  was  plentifully  stocked,  to  tjtke 
exclusiveness  and  pre-occupation  of  his  daughter.  He  made 
no  remark,  however,  understanding  her  reasonably  well — a 
very  unccumnon  knowledge  in  a  parent ;  but  allowed  Maria  to 
engross  his  attention  almost  f^s  explwsively  as  JVEary  had  ^n- 


76  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 

grossed  that  of  Allen.  This  relieved  Thorpe,  who  immediately 
became  silent  and  apparently  abstracted — a  state  of  things 
which  Mary  did  not  fail  to  notice  and  improve. 

When  the  dinner  was  over,  and  they  had  returned  to  the 
drawing-room,  Morris  pleaded  business  and  departed,  appa- 
reirtly  not  a  little  displeased.  Mary  was  elated  beyond  mea- 
sure, at  what  she  considered  the  evidence  of  her  success.  But 
a  quick  observer,  who  had  seen  Thorpe  when  the  street  door 
closed  upon  him,  would  have  thought  him  as  hightly  elated  as 
she  was,  and  correctly,  too. 

**  The  shallow  fool !''  he  muttered ;  **  to  think  to  play  upon 
mer 

As  soon  as  he  was  gone,  Mary  suddenly  relaxed  in  her  efforts 
to  impress  Allen ;  and  in  order  to  escape  to  enjoy  her  triumph 
in  secret,  affected  a  *'  palpitation ;"  a  kind  of  affection,  by  the 
way,  which  afflicted  her  very  frequently,  but  which  generally 
subsided  after  she  had  succeeded  in  being  caught  in  the  arms 
of  some  gentleman,  to  prevent  her  falling.  Mary  being  gone, 
Maria  had  no  longer  her  brother's  signals  to  obey  or  his  inter- 
ests to  serve,  and  she  therefore  entered  easily  and  naturally  into 
a  conversation  which  lasted  more  than  an  hour.  The  Major  was 
asleep  and  they  were  alone,  a  situation  which,  when  she  chose, 
Maria  could  make  an  exceedingly  pleasant  one.  On  this  occa- 
sion she  showed  herself  what  she  really  was,  a  sensible,  well- 
informed  and  quick-witted  woman,  a  little  satirical,  indeed,  and 
sometimes  even  ill-natured  ;  but  always  entertaining  and  agree- 
able. At  the  end  of  an  hour,  Vernon  was  reluctantly  compelled 
to  take  his  leave.  He  was  glad  to  receive  an  invitation  from 
)ier,  given  in  the  name  of  the  Major  and  his  daughter,  to  return 
^(>off  and  often. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

"  The  mailed  Man  shall  on  hii  altar  tet, 
Up  to  the  eara  in  blood.— Hamtr  lY.,  P.  1. 

Passing  down  the  street,  after  leaving  the  Major's,  Vernon 
paused  before  one  of  those  old,  dingy,  frame  buildings,  which 
are  sometimes  allowed  to  stand  for  years  in  the  midst  of  popu« 
lous  and  well-built  cities.  He  looked  at  the  sign  over  the  door, 
as  if  not  quite  sure  he  was  at  the  right  place,  and  saw  "  Uriah 
Manning y  Cabinet  MaJeer,'  painted  in  large  gilt  letters  along 
a  weather-beaten  sign.  From  within  came  the  sound  of  the 
hammer  and  the  plane,  vouching  for  the  truth  of  the  sign  :  and 
in  more  definite  evidence  just  inside  of  the  door  could  be  seen 
piles  of  furniture,  arranged  in  various  room-saving  modes,  reach-^ 
iDg  quite  to  the  ceiling. 

Satisfied  with  his  examination,  Allen  passed  in,  and  ap- 
proached a  young  man  of  square,  strong  build,  and  florid,  cheer* 
ful  countenance,  who  was  pushing  the  plane  and  accompanying 
himself  with  a  tune  which  he  whistled  with  great  apparent 
relish.  Ue  laid  down  his  tools,  and  as  Allen  came  near  him 
leaned  against  the  bench  and  ceased  his  accompaniment — ^not, 
however,  until  he  came  to  the  end  of  a  bar,  which  rounded  off 
with  the  peculiarly-lengthened  notes  of  a  stately  march.  He 
was  not  above  the  medium  height,  and  as  we  have  said,  strongly 


78  TALBOT  AND  VBENON. 


built ;  his  face  was  one  of  those  free,  open  and  yet  shrewd  coun- 
tenances so  often  met  among  the  descendants  of  the  Puritans : 
and  about  his  eye  was  perceptible  a  slight  leer,  good-humored, 
however,  and  attended  by  an  expression  of  cool  determination. 
His  mouth  was  large  and  well  formed,  and  the  other  features  of 
his  face  corresponded  with  this  sketch  in  every  particular.  A 
small  admixture  of  conceit  might  be  noticed  in  his  bearing,  but 
it  was  not  obtrusive,  and  rather  added  to  the  respect  we  con- 
ceived for  him,  by  giving  the  idea  of  self-respect.  He  was  in 
his  shirt  sleeves,  and  his  arms  were  bare  to  the  elbow ;  showing 
a  power  of  muscle  and  proportion  not  often  met.  His  clothes 
were  of  a  material  much  finer  than  that  generally  worn  by  me- 
chanics at  their  work ;  and  as  Allen  apjaroached  him  he  stooped 
and  brushed  off  a  few  specks  of  saw  dust  which  clung  to  his 
pantaloons,  with  his  hand.  On  the  whole,  his  appearance  and 
bearing  were  manly  and  free,  giving  one  the  idea  of  a  man  far 
above  the  ordinary  level  of  journeymen  mechanics.  The  reader 
must  not  be  impatient  with  this  somewhat  minute  description  of 
an  apparently  insignificant  person ;  for  he  should  remember  that, 
in  almost  everything,  all  our  wisdom  is  insufficient  to  discover 
what  in  fact  is  insignificant  and  what  important.  We  can  all 
tell,  when  the  cards  are  laid  downon  the  table,  with  their  faces 
upward,  upon  what  precise  card  the  game  turned ;  and  it  not 
unfrequently  happens  that  this  pivot-card  is  one  to  which  very 
few  would  have  attached  the  least  importance,  nay,  one  which, 
after  the  deal,  the  player  was  very  much  dissatisfied  with  hold- 
ing. Now,  if  we  have  not  already  showed  our  hand,  the  read- 
er does  not  know  but  Hugh  Manning,  (son  of  Uriah,  of  the 
sign,)  is,  figuratively  speaking,  precisely  this  card.  We  do  not 
say  he  is;  we  leave  that  to  the  end ;  but  in  fact,  he  is  really  an 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  n 


important  character,  and  is,  therefore,  fully  entitled  to  the  read- 
er's attention. 

«•  How  do  you  do,  sir  ?"  said  he,  as  Vernon  approached^  in  a 
free,  bold,  out-spoken  and  not  unmusical  voice. 

Vernon  returned  his  salutation  and  asked, 

"  Is  Mr.  Manning  in  the  shop  V* 

"  No,  sir,"  said  Hugh ; "  you  will  scarcely  ever  find  him  here 
at  this  time^f  the  day." 

"  Well,"  said  Allen,  "  probably  you  can  do  what  I  wish.  I 
want  a  little  work  done  on  a  stationary  wardrobe."  And  he 
went  on  to  explain,  as  we  will  do  hereafter. 

^^  Yes,"  said  Hugh,  when  Allen  finished,  ^^  I  can  do  it 
Where  is  it  ?" 

*<  At  my  house,  cm  Franklin  street,  number  two  hundred." 

**  Your  name  is  Vernon,  then  ?"  said  Hugh,  inquiringly. 

'^  Yes,"  replied  Allen,  '^  I  should  like  to  have  this  done  as 
soon  as  I  can — to-morrow,  if  possible." 

'*  I  shall  be  busy  all  day  to-morrow,"  said  Hugh  ;  "  but  I 
can  do  it  on  Thursday,  if  that  will  answer." 

'*  Very  well,"  said  Allen,  and  he  turned  to  depart.  As  he 
reached  the  door,  a  printer's  boy  came  along  with  a  bundle  of 
handbills  and  a  paste  pot,  stopping  to  paste  one  of  them  to  the 
side  of  the  house. 

"  What's  that,  Tom  ?"  asked  Hugh. 

*•  The  Governor's  proclamation,"  said  the  boy,  pompously, 
"  about  the  declaration  of  war." 

"  Declaration  of  war !"  exclaimed  Vernon. 

"  Yes,  sir  ;  the  war  with  Mexico."  And  the  boy  passed  on 
as  if  the  fate  of  that  war  depended  upon  the  posting  of  the 
handbill. 


80  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


On  reading  it,  Vernon  found  it  as  the  boy  had  said — a  pro- 
clamation by  the  Governor  of  the  State,  calling  for  volunteers, 
iu  pursuance  of  a  requisition  from  the  President.  War  had 
just  been  declared  "  already  existing"  by  an  act  of  Congress, 
and  the  power  to  raise  fifty  thousand  troops,  was,  by  the  same 
act,  (13th  May,  1846,)  lodged  in  the  hands  of  the  Chief  Magis- 
trate. By  the  Grovernor  the  officers  of  the  militia  were  di- 
rected to  assemble  their  respective  brigades,  regiments,  etc., 
and  proceed  immediately  to  raise  and  organize  a  force,  which 
afterwards  proved  itself  in  some  of  the  hardest  fought  battles 
on  record. 

*<  The  President  means  to  invade  the  country,  I  reckon,'' 
said  Hugh. 

"  1  suppose  so,"  said  Allen  ;  *'  fifty  thousand  men  will  make 
a  large  army — larger  than  necessary  to  stand  on  the  defensive." 

"  I  will  be  in  that  army,"  said  Hugh  ;  *<  I  have  had  a  spite 
at  those  Mexicans  ever  since  their  throat  cutting  in  Texas." 

"  Yon  express  a  very  common  feeling,  I  apprehend,"  said 
Allen. 

'^  I  shall  go,  anyhow,"  repeated  Hugh,  as  if  he  had  been 
debating  the  question,  and  had  thought  of  some  possible  ob* 
jection. 

"  We  may  possibly  meet  there,"  said  Allen. 

"  Will  you  go,  too  ?" 

^^  Probably ;  it  depends  upon  some  contingencies,  but  I  think 
I  shall  certainly  go  ?" 

"  Then,"  said  Hugh,  "  we  are  the  first  volunteers,  for  this  is 
the  first  bill  stuck  up ;  it  is  only  three  doors  to  the  printing 
office." 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  81 

^^  I  hope  your  soldiering  will  not  prevent  3roiir  coming  to  re- 
pair my  wardrobe  ?"  said  Allen,  smiling. 

'^  Not  unless  we  march  before  Thursday,"  said  Hugh ;  and 
Vernon  walked  away  towards  home,  resolved  at  once  to  com« 
municate  with  his  father  in  regard  to  his  projected  excursion. 
It  is  true  Major  Bryce  had  not  yet  been  placed  by  the  govern- 
ment in  a  position  to  make  good  his  overtures  to  him  ;  but  war 
was  declared  at  all  events,  and  he  doubted  not  the  appointment 
tendered  him,  would  be  given  the  Major  by  the  time  he  could 
make  his  arrangements.  Full  of  these  thoughts  he  entered  his 
home,  and  passed  immediately  into  the  little  room  where  his 
father  was  sitting,  looking  listlessly  out  at  the  window  upon  the 
passengers  on  the  street. 

William  Vernon — he  bad  recovered  his  Christian  name  re- 
cently, his  son's  rising  fame  having  expelled  the  contemptuous 
soubriqtcet  of  "  Old  Bill,"  in  a  great  measure,  from  his  neigh- 
bors* mouths — was  really  not  more  than  fifty-five  or  sixty  years 
old ;  but  toil  and  disappointment  had  added  to  his  apparent  age 
at  least  ten  years.  His  hair  was  quite  white,  his  face  sunken 
and  vacant,  and  his  gait  uneasy  and  tottering.  This,  however, 
arose  more  from  the  uncertainty  and  peevishness  of  his  mind, 
than  from  any  positive  physical  decay.  He  had  never  been  a 
fleshy  nor  a  very  tall  man  ;  but  constant  fretting  had  made  him 
even  thinner  than  his  wont,  and  the  habit  of  brooding  over  his 
misfortunes  had  given  him  a  stoop,  which  materially  lessened 
his  moderate  height.  He  was  in  good  health,  however ;  and 
his  movements,  though,  as  we  have  said,  uncertain,  were  still 
alert  and  indicative  of  considerable  strength  and  activity,  for  a 
man  of  his  apparent  age.  His  eyes  were  a  little  sunken,  but 
their  glance  was  still  sharp  and  merchant-like,  though  some- 


S2  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


tknes  vacant,  and  always  a  little  snspicious.  His  voice,  though 
sharp  and  peevish,  was  still  strong  and  clear.  Indeed,  had 
success  continued  his,  he  would  have  had  a  good  promise  of 
twenty  years  of  cheerful  life,  and  a  green,  respectable  old  age. 

But  success  was  no  more  for  him ;  and  in  spite  of  all  the 
favorable  points  we  have  noticed,  it  was  plain  enough  that  the 
shattered  hulk  could  be  launched  no  more.  It  was,  perhaps, 
better  that  it  should  not  be ;  for  he  had  arrived  at  that  point 
when  almost  his  only  pleasure  was  derived  from  vague  calcu- 
lations, of  how  much  he  would  have  been  worth  if  he  had  con- 
tinued successful,  and  how  many  *'  lucky  speculations''  it  would 
still  require  to  make  him  "  even  with  John  Talbot." 

As  Allen  entered  the  room  where  the  old  man  was  sitting, 
be  seemed  to  be  in  an  uu  usually  complaining  humor,  and  turn- 
ed to  his  son  with  even  more  than  his  wonted  peevishness. 

'*  Do  hand  me  my  slippers,  Allen/'  were  the  first  words  he  ut- 
tered— in  a  tone  which  seemed  to  denote  that  he  was  making  a 
last  appeal,  after  having  been  several  times  refused.  The  slippers 
were  within  a  few  feet  of  him,  and  he  had  been  sitting  with 
nothing  but  his  yarn  stockings  on  his  feet  for  hours,  rather  than 
make  the  effort  necessary  to  get  them. 

Allen  handed  him  the  slippers  without  a  word,  and  drew  up 
a  chair  in  a  position  to  converse  with  him.  But  the  old  man 
began  again. 

"  Where  in  the  world  have  you  been  so  long  ?"  he  asked 
complainingly.  "  Away  from  home  all  day  without  saying  a 
word,  and  dinner  kept  waiting  for  you  more  than  an  hour  I" 

This  charge  was  true ;  for  Allen  had  stayed  so  long  at 
Talbot's  that  he  had  no  time  to  return  home  before  Major 
Bryce's  dinner  hour,  as  he  had  intended. 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.        *  83 


*'  I  intended  to  have  returned  home  before  dinner,  father," 
said  Allen,  patiently,  **  but  was  detained — " 

'*  Well,"  said  the  old  man,  seeing  him  hesitate,  **  where  and 
how  were  you  detained  V^ 

**  It  makes  no  difference,"  said  his  son,  **  since  I  am  oome 
home.     But  I  dined  at  Major  Bryce's." 

*<  I  wouldn't  have  thought  that  of  you,  Allen,"  said  the 
father  with  a  whine,  as  if  his  son  had  done  something  very 
undutiful. 

"  What,  father  V 

"  To  go  off  dining  among  those  people  without  saying  a  word 
to  me  about  it.  It  is  really  too  bad  I"  And  he  turned  with  a 
quivering  lip  to  the  window. 

"  Well,  well,  don't  scold,  father,"  said  his  son,  soothingly, 
**  and  I  will  not  go  again  without  telling  you.  And  as  an  ear- 
nest of  my  good  faith  I  will  begin  now.  I  think  it  very  pro- 
bable, father,"  he  continued,  gravely,  **  that  I  may  take  a  long 
journey  soon,  and  probably  an  uncertain  one.  War  has  just 
been  declared  against  Mexico — " 

"  What  is  that  to  me  f  interrupted  his  father,  peevishly ; 
"  unless  I  had  the  means  I  have  been  robbed  of  to  enable  me  to 
profit  by  it.     You  are  not  going  to  enlist  ?" 

"  No,  certainly  not,"  said  Allen  ;  "  but  I  have  been  offered 
employment  in  the  Quarter-Master's  department,  which  will 
enable  me  to  paint  some  of  the  finest  scenery  in  the  world — 
if  our  armies  invade  Mexico,  as  of  course  they  will." 

«*  And  you  have  accepted  it,"  whined  the  old  man. 

"  Nay,  it  is  not  time  yet,"  said  his  son,  "  but  I  shall  do  so." 

"  And  you  will  go  away  off  there  to  stay,  heaven  knows 
how  long,  and  leave  me  to  take  care  of  myself  V* 


84  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


'*  I  have  thought  of  that,  too,  father/'  aiiswered  Allen.  **  Ann 
will  8tay  with  you,  I  have  no  doubt ;  and  then  I  can  leave  you 
a  thousand  dollars  in  money — ample  means  of  support  fmr  the 
twelve  or  fifteen  months  I  shall  be  away." 

<*  A  thousand  dollars  I''  exclaimed  the  old  man,  "  where  would 
you  get  a  thousand  dollars  V* 

**  No  matter,  Oather,  so  I  only  get  it  honestly.  You  must  re- 
collect my  art  has  not  been  profitless  by  any  means." 

This  was  an  evasion.  His  art  had  been  profitable,  indeed; 
but  the  greater  portion  of  what  he  had  been  able  to  lay  up  in 
four  years,  had  gone  to  pay  for  the  cottage  in  which  he  lived ; 
and  borrowing  was,  therefore,  his  only  resource.  He  had 
thought  of  this  long  and  painfully ;  but,  having  consulted  Major 
Bryce,  he  had  at  last  determined  that  the  advantages  of  his  pro- 
jected journey  would  outweigh  even  the  disadvantages  of  bor- 
rowing. It  was  in  part  on  this  business  that  he  had  called  to 
see  Uriah  Manning.  That  gentleman,  (this  is  not  exactly  his 
description,  but  he  had  money,  and  therefore,  was  so  spoken 
of,)  had  been  very  successful  in  his  trade  ;  he  had  been  econo* 
mical,  prudent,  and  grasping ;  he  had  loaned  money,  taken 
mortgages,  foreclosed  them  and  collected  **  the  last  dollar  ;*' 
he  had  still  kept  his  shop  in  operation,  long  after  it  ceased 
to  be  necessary  to  his  support;  he  had  placed  his  son  at 
the  trade,  (though  we  must  be  just  enough  to  say  he  had 
first  given  him  a  complete  education,  as  the  word  is  un- 
derstood,) and  suffered  no  opportunity  to  escape  him  to  make 
or  save  even  the  smallest  sum.  By  dint  of  hard  work, 
close  collections,  enormous  interest,  and  a  quick,  sharp  and 
grasping  intellect,  he  had  succeeded  in  amassing  a  fortune 
equalled  by  few,  and  in  acqmiing  the  questioiuible  reputation 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  86 


of  a  noted  money  lender.  It  was  from  this  man  that  Allen  had 
thought  of  borrowing  a  thousand  dollars ;  for  which  he  at  last 
determined  to  mortgage  the  cottage,  the  result  of  years  of  labor. 

"  And  what  if  you  should  die  out  there  ?  What  would  be- 
come of  me  V*  peevishly  asked  his  father  when  he  saw  that  his 
son  was  resolved  upon  going. 

'^  And  what  if  I  should  die  here,  father  V  But  the  old  man 
did  not  reply,  and  he  continued.  *<  No  fear  of  that,  however ;  and 
if  I  should,  you  will  find  pictures  in  the  wardrobe  in  the  studio 
sufficient  in  value  to  pay  any  little  debt  that  may  come  against 
me,  and  perhaps  some  left.  But  it  is  useless  to  anticipate  any 
such  event ;  I  shall  guard  against  it  carefully  on  your  account^ 
father." 

"  O !  Yes  !"  the  old  man  began,  "I  have  no  doubt." 

But  why  should  we  further  lift  the  veil  to  lay  bare  a  scene 
which  was  of  every  day  occurrence — a  scene  where  imbecility 
and  whining  peevishness  were  met  by  patience,  and  kindness, 
and  unfailing  forbearance  ?  Suffice  it  that  at  last  the  old  man 
was  silenced  if  not  satisfied ;  and  Allen  was  at  liberty  to  retire 
to  his  studio— there  to  gaze  for  hours  upon  the  fresh  portrait  and 
think  of  the  lovely  original. 


CHAPTER  X. 

^  If  monej  go  before  all  weyi  do  lie  open.— Mbbkt  Wites  op  Wirdsob. 

*<  And  girt  to  da«t  that  is  t  little  gilt, 
More  land  than  gold  o'er-dnsted.— Fbolius  amd  Cbbisida. 

The  fact  that  John  Talbot  was  the  father  of  Cara  may  have 
had  some  influence  upon  Allen's  mind ;  but,  at  all  events,  the 
frequent  intercourse  he  held  with  the  Colonel  during  the  ten 
days  following  the  last  mentioned,  made  a  very  sensible  impres- 
sion, and  gave  him  a  much  better  opinion  of  him  than  he  had 
been  prepared  to  entertain.  Talbot,  too,  thought  highly  of 
Vernon,  and  treated  him  with  uniform  kindness  and  confidence. 
It  is  true,  he  had  no  perception  of  the  intimate  and  confidential 
relation  established  between  Allen  and  his  daughter ;  perhaps, 
had  he  seen  it,  he  might  not  have  treated  him  so  kindly.  As  it 
was,  he  seemed  to  be  actuated  by  a  desire  to  wipe  out  from  the 
son's  memory  all  the  impressions  made  there  by  the  father  ;  and 
he  was  not  the  less  anxious  to  do  so,  because  he  sometimes  felt 
that  his  own  course  towards  that  father  might  have  been  a  little 
more  lenient.  Not  that  he  felt  he  had  done  wrong;  far  from  it 
— he  only  felt  that  ancient  friendship  might  have  softened  the 
rigor  of  a  prosecution,  into  which,  to  do  him  justice,  he  had 
been  hurried  by  zealous  lawyers.  Even  this  he  did  not  always 
feel,  and  bis  kindness  to  Allen  was  &otiie\imfift  attcibutable  to  a 


TALBOT  AND  VKRNON.  87 


mnch  less  worthy  motive.  The  old  man,  like,  perhaps,  nearly 
all  who  have  been  successful  in  his  course  of  life,  was  vain ; 
and  he  was  flattered  by  the  deference  arising  from  the  relation 
above  spoken  of  in  a  great  measure,  with  which  Allen  treated 
him. 

Allen  was  often  at  his  house— every  day  indeed — something 
always  accruing  to  give  him  an  excuse  to  return  oftener  than 
would  otherwise  have  been  expected.  First  came  consultations 
about  hanging  the  "  Sunset,''  then,  a  visit  to  see  how  it  looked  in 
its  new  frame,  and  whether  the  style  of  the  frame  made  a  change 
of  light  desirable ;  then  another  visit  to  see  how  that  light 
afiected  it.  Afterwards  the  portrait  was  to  be  hung,  after  seve- 
ral visits  to  change  slight  points  of  the  costume  to  please  first 
Cara  and  then  her  father.  By  the  time  this  was  completed,  he 
had  become  an  habitual  visitor,  and  scarcely  a  day  passed  over 
without  his  being  at  the  house.  Sometimes  he  stayed  to  din- 
ner and  sometimes  to  tea,  and  once  or  twice  he  had  gone  out 
with  Cara.  He  had  closed  his  studio,  and  laid  down  his  pencil, 
so  that  he  had  leisure  at  command. 

During  all  this  time  Thorpe,  as  might  have  been  expected, 
was  not  idle.  He  was  occupied  in  the  process  of  enlisting 
volunteers  almost  all  the  time,  and  in  attending  to  his  own 
interests  among  them — ^securing  his  footing  in  such  a  manner 
as  to  hold  an  office  of  prominence  among  the  first  troops  raised. 
But  he  found  time,  also,  to  be  very  often  at  Colonel  Talbot's, 
and  he  generally  so  timed  his  visits  as  to  meet  Allen  there. 
When  he  did  so,  his  manner  was  cordial,  cheerful  and  friendly, 
showing  nothing  of  the  deadly  passion  which  was  every  day 
growing  in  his  heart,  as  he  saw  his  hold  on  Cara  gradually 
loosening.     He  had  fully  resolved  that  he  would  not  lose  that 


88  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


hold ;  and  he  was  not  incapable  of  making  his  success  sure  by 
a  coup  de  main.  This  he  reserved,  however,  for  a  future  day. 
shrinking,  with  the  feeling  of  every  merely  unscrupulous  man, 
from  any  **  superfluous  sin."  He  reflected  that  Vernon  would 
probably  be  in  the  same  divisicm  of  the  army  with  himself ;  and 
he  would,  therefore,  always  have  it  in  his  power  to  cut  him  oif, 
when  he  saw  that  it  was  necessary.  This  security  did  not 
prevent  his  being  watchful  now  ;  and  he  strove,  on  every  occa- 
sion, (and  often  succeeded,)  to  make  the  intercourse  between 
Cara  and  Vernon  merely  that  of  casual  acquaintances.  He 
sought  the  society  of  Allen,  too,  as  much  as  he  did  that  of 
Cara,  and  even  sometimes  afiected  to  advise  with  him  upon 
important  affairs,  insinuating  himself  gradually  into  his  con- 
fidence by  a  well-aflected  identity  of  feelings  and  a  skilfully 
counterfeited  sympathy  in  enthusiasm.  Vernon  was  inexpe- 
rienced and  unsuspicious,  lying  then,  as  it  were,  almost  at  the 
mercy  of  any  one  thoroughly  acquainted  with  life.  Even  the 
hints  which  Cara  sometimes  gave  him — for  she  was  beginning 
to  fear  Thorpe — were  not  suflicient  to  arm  him  against  cool 
calculation,  eloquence,  and  delicate  management.  At  the  end 
of  ten  days,  therefore,  from  the  day  last  mentioned  in  this  veri- 
table history,  Allen  Vernon  was  so  far  in  the  meshes  of  Thorpe, 
that  he  thought  the  latter  one  of  the  most  agreeable  and  trust- 
worthy men  he  had  ever  known. 

At  this  time,  Major  Bryce  received  his  commission  as  a 
Quarter-Master,  with  the  rank  of  Major  in  the  service  of  the 
United  States,  and  immediately  notified  Allen  of  the  fact,  in- 
forming him  likewise  that  he  was  awaiting  orders  which  might 
make  it  necessary  for  him  to  leave  home  on  a  day's  warning. 
He,  therefore,  wished  Vernon  to  ptepate  to  go  with  him,  and 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  89 

to  hold  himself  in  readiness.  The  arrangement  was  completed, 
and  Vernon  was  engaged  as  a  clerk  in  his  office  at  a  very 
respectable  salary,  with  the  understanding  that  he  should  be  at 
liberty  to  follow  his  pursuits  as  a  painter  ad  libitum, 

"  Oh  I"  said  Mary,  tragically,  after  the  Major  and  Vernon 
had  adjusted  their  affairs  in  her  presence — "  I  feel  so  nervous 
and  frightened !  Do  not  you  feel  serious  upon  setting  out  on 
so  hazardous  an  expedition.  See! — ^how  I  tremble T'  And 
she  held  up  her  fat  hand  to  him,  which,  of  course,  he  took  in 
his.  As  he  did  so,  her  grasp  closed  convulsively  on  his  fingers, 
and  she  seemed  to  make  a  great  effort  to  command  herself. 

<*  You  are  more  agitated,"  said  Allen,  smiling,  "  than  the 
occasion  justifies.  The  expedition  may  not  be  hazardous ;  in- 
deed, peace  may  be  made  before  we  leave  the  States." 

**  O !  how  I  wish  it  may !"  she  exclaimed,  throwing  her  eyes 
up  to  the  ceiling.     **  But  why  do  you  go?"  she  asked  tenderly. 

'<  I  go  for  various  reasons,"  he  said — "  the  chief  of  which  is, 
that  I  have  no  adequate  motive  for  staying." 

*<  No  adequate  motive  for  staying !"  she  said,  drawing  back 
from  him,  as  if  overwhelmed  with  astonishment.  "  Is  it  pos- 
sible that  you  think  your  friends  here  do  not  wish  you  to  stay  ?" 

<<  I  do  not  know  that  they  do,"  said  Vernon,  almost  badgered 
to  death. 

**  Am  not  I  a  friend  of  yours  ?"  she  asked,  solemnly,  laying 
the  aforesaid  fat  hand  on  his  arm.  "  Do  you  not  think  me  a 
friend  ?" 

*<  I  hope  you  are,"  said  Allen,  wondering  what  she  meant. 

**  Well,"  said  she,  "  let  me  persuade  you  to  stay — let  me 
assure  you  that  you  have  an  adequate  reason  for  staying.  Why 
should  you  wander  away  off,  among  soldiers  and  such  people. 


90  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


to  be  killed,  perhaps — "  aud  she  covered  her  face  with  her 
hands,  as  if  to  shut  out  some  dreadful  image,  or,  perhaps,  to 
make  him  believe  she  was  weeping. 

"  You  forget,"  said  he,  "  it  is  too  late  to  retreat  now — " 

**  I  will  speak  to  father  !"  she  exclaimed ;  "  he  will  not  insist 
upon  your  going,  I  know.'* 

"  But,"  said  Vernon,  hastily,  "  I  do  not  wish  to  retreat.  Why 
do  you  not  try  to  prevent  his  going — your  father's  safety  is  cer- 
tainly more  dear  to  you  than  mine." 

This  was  a  home-thrust,  but  her  tragicals  saved  her. 

",0 !"  I  have  entreated  him  to  stay,  again  and  again  I  btit  he 
will  not  listen  to  me  a  moment."  (We  are  sorry  to  contradict 
a  lady ;  but  the  fact  was,  she  had  never  even  thought  of  her 
father's  refusing  to  go.) 

What  this  scene  might  have  led  to,  we  cannot  conjecture ; 
but  it  was  cut  short  by  the  entrance  of  Maria  Thorpe,  who 
was  not  aware  that  Vernon  was  in  the  house.  As  soon  as  she 
perceived  it  she  retreated ;  but  the  diversion  was  sufficient  to 
enable  Allen  to  rise  and  take  his  hat,  beginning  an  apology  for 
an  abrupt  departure. 

"  I  must  set  about  my  preparations,"  said  he,  **  for  I  cannot 
tell  when  we  may  be  ordered  away." 

"  You  vdll  go,  then  ?"  said  she,  despairingly. 

"  I  have  no  alternative  now,"  said  he,  and  he  was  gone,  leav- 
ing her  almost  in  hysterics,  from  which,  however,  she  soon  re- 
covered. 

Allen  walked  down  the  street,  and  again  entered  the  shop 

where  we  saw  him  once  before,  this  time  not  looking  up  at "  Uriah 

Manning,"  in  the  gilt  letters  over  the  door.     As  he  entered 

without  ceremony,  then,  he  met  tVie  same  7o\m%TKwx'wbom  he 


TALBOT  AND  VSRNON.  91 


saw  before— not  at  work,  however,  but  leaning  liBtlessly  against 
a  piece  of  furniture. 

"Grood  morning,  Hugh,"  said  Vernon,  familiarly.  "Why 
are  you  not  in  uniform?  I  heard  you  were  elected  a  lieu- 
tenant." 

"  So  I  was,"  said  Hugh,  iangfaing,  **  but  my  uniform  is.  not 
made  yet." 

«  I  suppose,  now,"  said  Allen,  "  you  will  scarcely  be  willing 
to  finish  my  job,  and  I  must  look  for  some  one  else." 

"  Why,"  answered  Hugh,  "  I  thought  I  had  finished  it." 

•*  So  you  did,"  replied  Allen,  "  in  part ;  but  I  find  I  have  not 
room  enough  for  all  my  pictures  in  the  wardrobe,  but  must 
have  a  rack  put  up  in  the  closet,  and  use  that." 

"That  is  the  work  of  a  carpenter,". said  Hugh  ;  "  but  since 
I  did  part  of  the  job  I  will  finish  it.  I  want  something  to  do, 
anyhow ;  doing  nothing  doesn't  suit  me.  I  have  been  used  to 
work  too  long." 

"  Can  you  do  it  to-morrow  ?" 

«« Yes — in  the  morning." 

"  Very  well.   Now  where  is  your  father — I  want  to  see  him." 

Hugh  led  the  way  through  the  shop  into  a  kind  of  counting- 
room,  divided  from  it  by  a  heavy  board  petition,  and  introduced 
him  to  his  father.  The  latter  was  a  small,  spare,  sharp-visaged 
man,  of  apparently  fifty  years  c^  age.  His  hair  was  a  little 
mixed  with  gray,  and  his  face  somewhat  wrinkled  by  time. 
But  he  was  still  vigorous  and  active — ^his  form  answering  to  the 
mind  which  animated  it,  keen,  quick,  eager  and  graspmg.  His 
eyes  were  small  and  dark,  and  when  they  turned  upon  a  man, 
there  was,  besides  their  furtive  look,  an  expression  of  cold  scru- 
tiny, as  if  he  was  calculating  what  per  cent,  was  the  largest  he 


92  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


would  be  able  to  squeeze  out  of  him.  He  was  dressed  in  a  suit 
of  dingy  snuff-colored  broadcloth,  and  wore  a  black  fur  hat  from 
which  the  fur  had  disappeared  in  many  places  through  long 
wearing.  He  wore  no  spectacles — money-lenders  seldom  do— 
and  his  feet  were  encased  in  a  pair  of  slippers,  which  had  like- 
wise seen  long  service.  He  was  sitting  on  a  low  chair  running 
over  an  account  book,  which  lay  for  convenience  upon  an  old- 
fashioned  low  iron  safe,  instead  of  the  prim,  high  desk  on  the 
other  side  of  the  room.  But  he  laid  down  his  pen  as  Vernon 
entered,  and  handed  him  the  chair,  taking  the  safe  as  a  seat  for 
himself. 

**  Vernon,  Vernon  ?''  said  he,  repeating  the  name  in  a  quick, 
inquisitive  tone  ;  "  the  son  of  Vernon,  formerly  of  the  firm  of 
Talbot  and  Vernon?'* 

"  The  same,  sir,"  said  Alien,  quietly ;  "  I  hope  the  name  will 
not  be  any  obstacle  to  our  business." 

"  Names  make  but  little  difference  to  me,"  said  Manning, 
"  unless  they  are  at  the  bottom  of  a  note.  I  can  remember  the 
time  when  *  Talbot  and  Vernon*  was  the  best  name  in  the  city 
for  an  endorser." 

"  Well,"  said  Allen,  taking  advantage  of  this  turn  of  the  con- 
versation, <<  it  is  upon  some  such  business  that  I  come.  I  want 
to  borrow  a  thousand  dollars,  and  I  have  been  led  to  believe 
that  I  can  negotiate  the  loan  with  you." 

"A  thousand  dollars?"  said  the  old  man,  musingly.  But 
Allen  continued — 

"  And  I  propose  to  give  you  a  mortgage  upon  a  house  and  a 
block  of  lots—" 

«*  For  how  long?"  interrupted  Manning. 
**  I  would  like  the  note  diawn  aX  l^c\Ne  ixvoTLXSotE^  qt  even 
longer,  ifposaible ;  for  I  may  be  detamed  ^  i^^  moxifiM.X^OTL'^xr 


TALBOT  AND  VERKON.  93 

**  Why  ?  are  you  going  to  this  cursed  war,  too  ?"  exclaimed 
the  miser. 

<*  I  shall  be  with  the  army/'  replied  Allen,  "  and  this  money 
I  wish  to  borow  for  the  use  of  my  father  while  I  am  gone." 

«*  And  you  propose  to  give  a  mortgage — " 

"  Yes,"  interposed  Vernon,  "  upon  property  worth  three 
times  the  sum — the  house  in  which  my  father  lives." 

**  The  money  market  is  tight,"  said  Manning,  as  if  speaking 
to  himself,  '<  I  shall  have  to  charge  you  ten  per  cent." 

**  Very  well,"  said  Allen,  in  a  tone  which  almost  made  the 
old  man  regret  that  he  had  not  asked  twelve. 

<*But,''  continued  Manning,  *' you  must  give  me  personal 
security — ^I  do  not  like  mortgages — I  have  lost  by  them  ;  real 
estate  is  too  fluctuating  in  value." 

*<  I  do  not  know  whether  I  can  give  personal  security,"  said 
Allen.  '*  But  the  property  is  ample,  let  its  value  fluctuate  as  it 
may." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Manning,  as  if  his  mind  were  made  up  ; 
'*  if  it  is  ample  it  will  secure  another  man  as  well  as  me,  and  I 
would  prefer  a  good  name  on  the  note  to  three  mortgages." 

"  How  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  I  mean,"  said  the  old  man,  "  you  can  give  me  the  personal 
security,  and  mortgage  the  property  to  your  security,  to  indem- 
nify him." 

<*  But  that  is  double  trouble,"  said  Allen. 

«  I  cannot  help  it,"  said  the  money-lender,  and  he  took  up 
his  pen. 

Allen  thought  a  moment  of  all  whom  he  might  be  able  to  get 
to  do  this  favor  for  him. 

"  How  would  John  Talbot  do  ?"  he  asked,  after  a  pause. 

" Perfectly  well,  sir,"  said  Manning;  "it  would  be  the  old 


94  TALBOT  AND  VEBNON. 


names  of  Talbot  and  Vernon— only  Vernon  would  come  first  this 
time." 

"  Draw  up  the  note  then,"  said  Allen«  **  as  you  wish  it,  and 
I  will  see  him." 

It  was  done,  and  taking  it  Allen  left  him. 

Five  minutes  walk  brought  him  to  Talbot's,  and  a  few  mo- 
ments afterwards,  he  found  himself  seated  beside  Cara  in  the 
little  withdrawing  room,  where  he  had  first  told  her  he  loved  her. 

**  I  have  just  completed  my  arrangements  with  Major  Bryce," 
said  he,  '*  and  now  I  want  to  see  your  father  on  a  matter  of 
business." 

"  You  are  not  going  to  tell  him — " 

<*  O !  no  I"  said  her  lover ;  '*  don't  be  alarmed — I  have  not  had 
permission  to  say  all  I  wish  to  you,  much  less  to  him.  The 
twenty  days  are  little  more  than  half  gone." 

**  True,"  said  she,  '*  I  had  forgotten.  But  when  do  you  leave 
us?" 

"  Whenever  the  Major  is  ordered  away,"  said  he.  «•  If  it 
should  be  before  the  expiration  of  the  twenty  days,  you  must 
take  off  the  prohibition." 

"  Perhaps  I  will,"  said  she,  gaily,  "  but  I  hope  there  will  be 
no  necessity  for  that." 

I  hope  there  will,"  said  he,  quietly. 
Why  so  ?" 

'*  Because  I  will  be  sooner  at  liberty  to  speak  what  I  wish." 

<f  Why,"  said  she,  laughing,  "  you  have  said  it  a  thousand 
times  already !" 

"  Yes,  but  then,  I  have  no  answer  yet,  my  dear  Cara." 

**  That  you  cannot  have  until  the  time  I  fixed,"   she  said, 

m 

gravely. 


tt 


<( 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  95 


**  I  suppose  I  must  submit/'  said  he,  rising ;  "  but  I  must  see 
your  father  now.'* 

*<  Then  you  did  not  come  to  see  me  ?"  said  she. 

"  O !  yes  I  did !"  he  said,  eageriy ;  "if  you  had  not  been 
here,  I  would  not  have  thought  of  coming  to  see  him." 

"  Very  well,"  said  she,  gaily  ;  **  you  will  find  him  in  the  li- 
•^brary,"  and  she  accompanied  him  to  the  hall,  which  he  crossed 
and  entered  the  library.  So  the  "  Colonel"  called  it,  though 
the  only  books  there  were  such  as  pertained  in  some  way  to  his 
business. 

Vernon  found  him  sitting  in  a  large  arm  chair,  with  several 
letters  lying  open  before  him,  which  he  had  apparently  been 
reading,  and  over  the  contents  of  which  he  seemed  to  be  pon- 
dering. He  raised  his  head  as  Allen  entered,  and  pushing  a 
chair  towards  him,  bowed  gravely,  and  said,  '*  Good  morning." 

Some  men  seem  to  have  an  instinctive  knowledge  when  a 
favor  is  about  to  be  asked  of  them  ;  and  their  manners  contract 
accordingly,  like  the  leaves  of  the  sensitive  plant,  at  the  approach 
of  a  stranger.  Allen  thought  it  was  so  with  Talbot,  but  he 
did  not  pause ;  for  once  resolved,  he  never  changed  his  mind 
except  upon  good  reasons. 

*<  I  called  this  morning.  Colonel,"  said  he,  after  returning 
Talbot's  greeting,  "  to  ask  a  favor  of  you. 

"A  favor,  eh?"  said  the  Colonel.  "I  will  be  glad  to  do  it 
if  I  can." 

**  It  is  this,"  said  Allen,  finding  it  unaccountably  hard  to 
announce  it ;  **1  have  engaged  with  Major  Bryce  to  go  with 
him  to  Mexico.  I  shall  be  gone,  probably,  little  more  than  a 
year,  and  I  want  to  make  provision  for  my  father  during  my 
absence."    He  went  on  to  state  the  facts  as  they  were,  con- 


96  TALBOT  AND  VBENON. 


clnding  by  ofiering  to  secure  him  against  loss,  as  stated  before. 
Talbot  listened  coolly ;  and  when  he  was  through,  calmly  took 
the  note  Allen  presented,  and  read  it  over. 

**  I  will  execute  the  mortgage  immediately/'  said  Allen. 

'*  I  shall  be  very  glad,  my  young  friend/'  said  Talbot,  after  a 
pause,  **  if  I  find  myself  able  to  do  this  for  you  without  violat- 
ing my  rules.  My  rule  is  this/'  he  continued,  a  little  pom- 
pously ;  **  I  have  done  business  successfully  for  more  than 
thirty  years — boy  and  man — and  I  have  never  departed  from  it 
— ^I  never  put  my  name  to  any  paper  for  money  without  seeing 
clearly  that  I  will  have  the  money  at  command  from  my  busi- 


ness." 


«  But,"  said  Allen,  **  you  will  not  have  to  pay  this ;  it  is 
only—" 

<*I  understand,"  interrupted  Talbot;  '^butmy  rule  is,  to  be 
prepared  to  pay  it  at  all  events — we  can  never  tell  what  may 
happen." 

"  Very  true,"  said  Vernon,  "  but  still — " 

<*  Hear  me  out,"  again  interrupted  the  Colonel.  *<  I  fear  that 
my  funds  are  all  invested  for  the  year  to  come ;  but  still  I  may 
find  that  a  thousand  dollars  may  be  spared.  I  will  examine 
my  books  when  I  go  to  the  warehouse,  and  give  you  an  answer 
to-morrow,  which  I  hope  may  be  favorable.  I  shall  leave  home 
to*morrow  for  several  weeks,  so  it  had  better  be  dcme  in  the 
morning." 

"  And  the  mortgage,"  said  Vernon,  "  I  will  have — " 

<*  Never  mind  the  mortgage,"  said  the  Colonel,  **  I  do  iy)t 
want  it  in  any  event." 

Soon  afterwards  Vernon  took  leave,  highly  impressed  with 
the  ColoaeVm  good  intentions,  promising  to  call  again  for  bis 
mnswer  at  twelve  o'clock  on  iVie  moxiow. 


CHAPTER     II. 

**  Wlio  cannot  be  eniilMdbjr  a  plot?'*— All's  Well  that  E»m  Wma. 

<"  Thii  if  the  fruit  of  craft  : 
Like  him  that  shooti  np  hig h— lookf  for  the  ihaft, 
And  finds  it  in  hit  forehead. — ^Middletoit. 

««  Has  Mr.  Vernon  been  here  this  morning,  Cara  ?"  said 
Colonel  Talbot,  entering  the  drawing-room  a  little  before  ten 
o'clock  on  the  following  morning. 

<*  He  never  comes  so  early  as  this,  father,''  said  Cara.  "  Did 
he  make  an  engagement  to  meet  you  here  so  early  V*  and  she 
looked  down  at  the  loose,  white  dress  she  wore,  as  if  it  would 
be  scarcely  seemly  to  be  seen  by  Allen. 

"  No,  not  so  early,**  answered  her  father ;  "  but  I  thought 
perhaps  he  might  come.     I  cannot  wait  for  him,  however." 

"  Why,**  said  Cara,  perceiving  that  he  was  dressed,  appa- 
rantly  for  travelling,  "  you  are  not  going  till  after  noon  ?** 

**  I  have  received  letters  this  morning,  my  dear,**  he  said, 
*'  which  make  it  necessary  for  me  to  go  by  the  morning  train. 
I  shall  have  to  stop  and  see  him  as  I  go  to  the  station.**  Kiss- 
ing his  daughter  hastily,  he  hurried  out  of  the  room,  and,  soon 
afterwards,  she  saw  him  get  into  a  carriage  and  drive  away  for 
the  railroad  station. 

A  little  before  the  same  hour,  Vernon  was  sitting  in  his 
5 


98  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


Studio,  retouching  a  last  work,  when  the  door  opened  and  Hugh 
Manning  entered. 

"  Grood  morning,  Mr.  Vernon,  "  said  he ;  "I  have  brought 
the  rack  :  shall  I  put  it  up  immediately?*'  He  turned  and 
brought  in  a  kind  of  frame  with  skeleton  shelves,  evidently 
made  to  support  pictures.  In  this  he  designed  to  deposit  bis 
paintings  until  his  return. 

'*  Yes,''  Vernon  replied  ;  and  rising  opened  a  small  closet  on 
the  south  side  of  the  room,  very  near  the  southeastern  corner. 
In  order  to  open  the  door,  he  had  to  move  a  small  table,  which 
stood  under  the  front  window,  and,  upon  which,  among  paints, 
brushes,  crayons,  and  other  articles  of  his  pursuits,  were  writ- 
ing materials.  The  opening  disclosed  was,  perhaps,  four  feet 
wide  and  three  feet  deep,  and  around  three  sides  of  it  were 
ranged  pins,  apparently  for  the  purpose  of  hanging  clothes. 

"  I  want  the  rack  so  placed,"  said  Allen,  "  as  to  admit  of  a 
painting  being  slid  in  and  lodged  thus,"  showing  him  with  a 
piece  of  prepared  canvas  on  the  upright  frame. 

"  Exactly,"  said  Hugh,  "  I  understand." 

"  Let  me  help  you  to  place  it  before  I  leave  you,"  said  Allen, 
"  for  I  shall  not  probably  return  before  you  will  have  finished  it." 

They  accordingly  lifted  the  frame  within  the  closet,  where  a 
nail  or  two  fixed  it  temporarily,  and  Vernon  left  him.  Hugh 
went  whistlii^g  about  his  work,  and  soon  had  the  pins  knocked 
off"  and  sawed  down,  to  clear  his  way.  While  he  was  thus 
occupied,  a  loud  knock  at  the  door  announced  a  visitor,  and 
without  hesitation  Hugh  called  out — 

''  Come  in !" 

"  Is  Mr.  Vernon  at  home — Mr,  Allen  Vernon  ?"  asked  Colo- 
nel Talbot,  in  a  voice  of  considerable  importance. 


TALBOT  AND  VEENON.  gO 

'<  No,  sir/'  said  Hugh,  and  went  on  with  his  work. 

**  Then  I  shall  have  to  leave  it  here  for  him,"  said  the  Colo- 
nel, hastily. 

"  Leave  what  V*  said  Hugh,  bluntly. 

<*  I  will  write  a  note  for  him,"  said  the  Colonel,  his  eye  light- 
ing on  the  paper,  and  catching  at  any  escape  from  leaving  a 
message  with  such  a  **  plebeian"  as  this  bluff  mechanic.  He 
accordingly  sat  down  by  the  table,  and  taking  a  sheet  of  paper, 
wrote  as  follows : 

"  Hmrsday  Morning j  10  o^dock, 

"  Dear  Mr.  V. — On  examining  the  state  of  my  affairs,  I  find 
it  impossible  to  accommodate  you.  With  the  security  of  this 
valuable  property,  however,  I  doubt  not  you  can  easily  have  it 
done.  I  am  called  away  so  as  not  to  be  able  to  redeem  the  ap- 
pointment. Hoping  you  may  find  no  difiiculty  in  so  doing,  I 
remain, 

"  Your  most  humble  servant  and  friend, 

"J.  Talbot.' 

He  then  took  a  note  from  his  pocket-book,  (the .  same  which 
Vernon  had  signed  and  left  with  him,)  and  laid  them  both  to- 
gether open  on  the  table. 

"  Tell  Mr.  Vernon  I  left  that  for  him,"  said  he  to  Hugh. 

"  Didn't  you  sign  your  name  to  it,"  said  Hugh,  quietly. 

"  yes,  certainly,"  said  the  Colonel,  "  what's  that  to  you  ?" 

«*  O I  nothing,"  said  Hugh ;  "  only  if  you  did,  what's  the  use 
of  my  telling  him  ?     I  suppose  he  can  read  ?" 

The  Colonel  did  not  deign  to  reply,  but,  with  a  measured  and 
stately  tread,  left  the  room,  with  Hugh's  laugh  ringing  in  his 
offended  ears.  Hugh  laid  down  his  tools,  ceased  laughing  apd 
looked  out  of  the  window  at  his  retreating  figure, 


100  TALBOT  AND  VEBNON. 


**  The  pompons  old  aristocrat!''  he  exclaimed,  «  to  leave  his 
messages  with  me,  as  if  I  were  his  servant  I"  And  his  mind 
recurred  to  his  recent  elevation  to  the  post  of  second  lieutenant. 
He  stood  musing  over  the  thousand  pleasant  images,  this  thought 
brought  up  so  teemingly,  until  Talbot's  carriage  was  out  of 
sight.  Just  as  he  was  turning  from  the  window,  the  gate 
opened  again,  and  Hugh  saw  Thorpe  enter. 

"  Humph !"  said  he  to  himself ;  "  there  comes  another  of 
them — as  great  an  aristocrat  as  old  Talbot  at  heart,  cmly  a 
demagogue  to  boot.  I'll  not  subject  myself  to  another  insult, 
any  how."  Muttering  these  words,  he  stepped  into  the  closet, 
with  the  purpose  of  letting  Thorpe  go  away  without  seeing 
him,  if  he  came  in ;  and  pulled  the  door  of  the  closet  as  nearly 
to  as  he  could  get  it,  just  as  Thorpe,  having  knocked  and 
received  no  answer,  opened  the  door  and  entered. 

As  usual,  when  he  entered  a  room,  Thorpe's  eye  took  in  the 
whole  with  one  sweeping  glance. 

*<  Not  at  home,"  he  muttered  :  and  taking  up  a  pen,  he  sat 
down  in  the  chair  which  Talbot  had  left  but  a  few  minutes 
before,  with  the  purpose  of  leaving  a  note.  He  had  actually 
written  '*  Thursday  Morning,  10  o'clock,"  when  his  eye  fell 
upon  Talbot's  note. 

"  Ha !"  he  exclaimed  taking  it  up,  "  what's  here !" 

He  read  first  the  note  signed  by  Vernon,  and  then  Talbot's 
card  two  or  three  times.  His  hand  sank  back  upon  the  table, 
and  his  eyes  fixed  for  a  moment  upon  a  spot  on  the  table.  He 
then  coolly  took  up  the  pen  again  and  looking  from  one  to  the 
other,  wrote  under  "  Allen  Vernon"  the  name  of  "  J.  Talbot." 
He  then  compared  them  closely  and  muttered  to  himself — 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  Id 

**  This  is  lucky,  indeed  !  Old  Manning  himself^  sharp  as  he 
is,  will  never  detect  that — and,  then,  I  have  him  and — her.'* 

He  smiled  placidly  as  if  complimenting  himself,  as  indeed  he 
was,  and  coolly  doubled  up  Talbot's  note  and  placed  it  in  his 
vest  pocket.     He  then  resumed  the  pen  and  wrote  again — 

«  Dear  Mr.  V :  On  making  the  examination  of  my  afiairs^  I 
find  I  can  do  you  the  fietvor.  Your  friend, 

"  J.  Talbot." 

"  He  never  saw  much  of  his  writing,"  he  again  muttered ; 
"  and  besides  that  is  a  very  fair  imitation."  He  took  the  paper 
again  from  his  pocket  and  compared  them.  Smiling  again,  ha 
replaced  it  in  his  pocket  and  rose  from  the  table. 

"  It  was  a  lucky  thought  to  learn  the  old  man's  hand,"  ha 
said,  **  and  now  secures  me  his  daughter~2.and  his  wealth 
afterwards." 

As  he  went  out  and  shut  the  door  after  him,  the  door  of  the 
closet  slowly  opened,  and  Hugh  stepped  forth. 

«  Not  so  lucky,  perhaps,  as  you  think,  you  infernal  villain !" 
he  said,  advancing  to  the  table  and  reading  the  note.  "  The 
scoundrel !"  he  again  exclaimed ;  and  he  too  fell  into  a  fit  of 
thought.  But  he  had  not  the^  fault  of  talking  to  himself — ^the 
weakness  of  many  very  deep  men,  whether  in  villany  or  learn- 
ing of  another  sort — and  we  cannot  therefore  exactly  tell  what 
be  thought.  His  actions  must  therefore  speak  for  him.  He 
laid  the  paper  back  as  Thorpe  had  left  it,  and  returned  to  his 
work.  In  a  few  minutes  he  had  thrown  off  his  pre-occupation, 
and  worked  away  as  heartily  as  before ;  but  he  whistled  no 
more.  In  about  an  hour  he  had  finished,  and  while  he  was 
picking  up  his  tools  to  depart,  Allen  entered. 

**  Have  you  finished,  Hugh  ?"  he  asked. 


1Q2  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


<*  Just  got  through,"  said  the  other,  opening  the  door  of  the 
closet. 

*<0  yes,"  said  Allen,  examining  the  work,  "quite  right, 
Hugh." 

^^  There's  a  note  on  the  table  for  you,"  said  Hugh.  ^^  Colonel 
Talbot  commanded  me  to  tell  you  so  ;  and,  being  a  Colonel,  of 
course  he  has  the  right  to  expect  obedience." 

<'  From  a  lieutenant,"  said  Vernon,  laughing  and  taking  up 
the  note.  <<  Ah !"  he  continued  on  reading  it,  "  this  is  kind 
indeed !  If  you  are  going  home,  Hugh,  I  will  accompany  you; 
I  want  to  see  your  father  a  moment  or  two." 

As  they  stepped  out  upon  the  walk  in  front  of  the  door,  Hugh 
suddenly  turned  and  re-entered  the  house. 

'<  Let  me  see  if  I  have  all  my  tools,"  said  he,  and  advancing 
to  the  closet  he  affected  to  look  in  it ;  then  turning  again  he  has- 
tily snatched  up  the  paper  substituted  by  Thorpe  for  Talbot's 
card,  and  doubling  it  he  thrust  it  into  his  pocket.  Rejoining 
Vernon,  who  was  waiting  for  him  without,  he  walked  away 
with  him  towards  his  father's. 

They  found  Uriah  in  almost  precisely  the  same  position  as  on 
Allen's  former  visit,  and  bearing  the  same  impassible  money- 
lending  exterior.  He  did  not  rise  as  Vernon  entered,  but,  as  if 
divining  his  errand,  drew  a  large  key  from  his  pocket  and  in- 
serted it  in  the  safe. 

"  I  have  come  to  complete  our  arrangement,"  said  Allen, 
presenting  the  note  and  taking  a  seat  The  old  man  looked 
closely  at  the  note  a  moment,  and  then  opened  his  safe  without 
a  word. 

"I  suppose  you  would  prefer  gold,"  said  he,  after  looking 
into  his  coffer  a  few  moments. 


TALBOT  AND  VEENON.  W© 


*'  It  will  make  but  little  difference/'  said  Alleu. 

'*  Better  have  the  gold,  though,"  said  Manning;  and  he  pro- 
ceeded to  count  it  out.  His  son,  who  had  stood  in  the  door 
closely  observing  him  until  this  moment,  now  turned  away  ap- 
parently satisfied. 

In  the  meantime  Thorpe  held  his  way  up  the  street  on  his 
way  to  Colonel  Talbot's — recognizing  each  acquaintance  with 
a  smile  or  a  bow  as  he  passed  them,  but  still  pursuing  his  train 
of  thought  imder  an  exterior  perfectly  degagi. 

**  This  is  lucky,  indeed,''  he  thought.  "  All  my  schemes 
were  crumbling  and  falling  to  pieces — even  Mary's  liberal  co- 
quetry and  Vernon's  inexperience  would  not  save  me — and  here 
comes  a  chance  which  puts  the  whole  game  into  my  own 
hands  I"  and  with  a  placid  and  self-satisfied  smile  he  pursued 
his  way. 

There  are  very  few  men  who  can  muster  sufficient  self-com- 
mand to  appear  perfectly  calm,  after  committing  a  crime ;  it 
requires  very  great  intellectual  powers  to  conceal  from  the  ob- 
servation of  even  the  dull  and  unobservant,  the  agitation  which 
must  attend  its  commission.  But  when  Thorpe  entered  the 
drawing-'room  and  took  his  seat  beside  Car  a,  even  those  best 
acquainted  with  him  would  not  have  observed  the  slightest  de- 
viation from  his  usual  bearing  and  tone. 

Cara  laid  down  the  book  she  had  been  reading,  and  made 
room  for  him  on  the  sofa  beside  her.  He  took  the  book  up  and 
examined  it — a  publication  then  making  some  noise. 

*'  This  is  said  to  be  a  very  fine  composition,"  said  he,  "  what 
do  you  find  it?" 

"  Very  beautiful,  indeed,"  said  Cara,  quietly,  "  but  very 
strange.  I  was  just  reading  a  passage  here.  Let  me  read  it 
to  you." 


104  TALBOT  AND  VBBNON. 


She  took  the  book,  and  in  her  sweet,  musical  tones  began  to 
read  a  very  fine  description  ;  coming  to  the  bottom  of  the  page 
and  attempting  to  turn  over,  she  found  the  leaves  had  not  been 
cut.  Casting  her  eyes  upon  the  table  she  seemed  vexed — (as 
who  has  not  been  under  the  same  circumstances  ?") 

**  I  had  a  paper-knife  here  a  moment  ago/'  said  she. 

*<  Here,"  said  Thorpe,  feeling  in  his  pocket,  and  drawing  out 
a  penknife,  "  let  me  cut  it  for  you."  As  he  took  the  book  a 
pap^r  fell  from  his  pocket,  out  of  which  he  had  drawn  it  with 
his  knife,  and  unobserved  by  either  rolled  down  upcm  the  floor. 
The  leaf  was  cut,  Cara  finished  the  passage  and  laid  down  the 
book. 

"  A  very  strange  book,"  said  Thorpe. 

«*  And  a  very  beautiful  book,  too,"  said  Cara. 

Thorp  was  not  one  of  the  class  of  lovers  who  weary  their 
mistresses  by  interminable  visits ;  and  after  a  short  half-hour's 
conversation  he  took  his  leave.  Cara  went  with  him  to  the  door, 
and  as  she  returned  her  eye  fell  upon  the  lost  paper.  She  took 
It  up,  and  after  turning  it  over  two  or  three  times,  opened  it  and 
read  it. 

"  What  could  Morris  be  doing  with  this  ?"  she  said. 
•  Thursday  Morning,  10  o'clock.  Dear  Mr.  V.'  That  must  be 
Vernon — and  only  written  an  hour  ago."  '  She  stood  still  gaz- 
ing upon  the  paper  and  casting  about  for  the  explanation  of 
Thorpe's  possession  of  it. 

"  I  don't  understand  it,"  she  said  at  last.  "  1*11  keep  it — at 
any  rate,  till  father  comes  home,  or  till  I  see  Allen,"  and  open- 
ing a  box  that  stood  on  the  table  she  threw  it  in  and  locked  the 
box. 


CHAPTER    XII. 

**  Farewell !    God  knows  when  we  shall  meet  again."— Romso  akd  Juliet 

'*  They  left  the  ploughshare  in  the  mould, 
The  flocks  and  herds  without  a  fold, 

"  And  mustered  in  their  simple  dress, 
For  wrongs  to  seek  a  stem  redress.'' — J.  M^Lkllan. 

There  is  no  nation  on  earth  whose  people  make  their  ar- 
rangements with  60  much  indifference  and  rapidity,  for  a  long 
journey  as  the  people  of  these  United  States.  A  journey  of  a 
thousand  miles  calls  for  no  more  preparation  here,  than  one  of 
one  hundred  in  an  older  coimtry ;  and  an  absence  of  six  or 
twelve  months  is  viewed  as  no  unusual  or  even  serious  matter. 
A  man  crams  a  few  shirts,  and  a  coat  and  pair  of  pantaloons, 
into  a  carpet  bag,  kisses  his  wife,  or  not,  as  it  happens,  (de- 
pending upon  whether  she  is  up  stairs  or  below  when  he  starts) 
drives  his  dog  back  into  the  yard,  and  sets  off  on  a  "  jaunt"  of  two 
or  three  thousand  miles,  with  the  most  complete  unconscious- 
ness that  he  is  doing  anything  at  all  extraordinary.  His  friends, 
seeing  him  carrying  a  carpet  bag,  hail  him  and  ask  where  he  is 
going.  He  replies,  "  Going  South"  or  "  Going  West,"  as  the 
case  may  be,  and  they  turn  away,  forgetting  it  in  five  seconds. 

People  who  belong  to  older  countries  do  not  understand  this 

trait  in  our  character,  because  it  is  peculiar  t6  us.     They  would 

5* 


( 


106  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 

have  a  regular  "  scene" — embracings,  weepings,  and  dolorous 
farewells— on  setting  out  upon  a  journey  from  London  to  Ber- 
wick-upon-Tweed. And  an  American  "  steps  down  to  New 
Orleans  from  latitude  forty-five,  takes  a  run  out  to  Pontchar- 
train,  and  returns  home,  without  being  asked  five  questions 
about  all  the  wonders  he  has  seen.  If  his  land  where  he  lives,  in 
Maine  or  Virginia,  does  not  suit  him — if  two  years  in  succession 
do  not  yield  good  crops — if  he  becomes  dissatisfied  with  his  sit- 
uation, or  listens  to  the  account  of  the  West  by  some  one  who 
has  seen  it,  he  (in  his  own  words,)  "  pulls  up  his  stakes,"  and 
sets  out  to  stick  them  down  again,  twelve  or  fifteen  hundred 
miles  further  West.  This,  too,  with  all  the  coolness  with 
which  a  party  of  hunters  would  "  pull  up  their  stakes"  and  re- 
move their  camp  from  an  exposed  situation,  to  some  sheltered 
nook  a  mile  down  the  valley. 

I  recollect  reading  some  years  ago  an  article  (I  think,)  in  the 
"  Edinburgh  Review,"  upon  the  Oregon  boundary  question, 
then  in  course  of  negotiation  and  settlement.  The  writer  of 
the  article  seemed  to  think  it  a  matter  of  very  little  consequence 
to  us,  and  thought  we  were  expending  a  large  amount  of  pa- 
triotism very  unproductively.  And  why  ?  Becatcse,  said  this 
sapient  reviewer,  it  is  impossible  that  that  country  should  ever 
be  colonized  from  *'  the  States" — it  must  be  filled  up  with  an 
European  population ;  and  the  same  difficulties  which  will  pre- 
vent its  colonization  from  the  eastern  side  of  the  continent,  will 
also  be  found  an  impassable  barrier  to  the  government,  and  pre- 
vent its  forming  a  part  of  this  Republic  I  And  yet,  overleaping 
all  these  barriers,  "  impassable"  as  they  are,  traversing  these 
deserts,  and  setting  at  naught  mountains,  and  plains,  and  rivers, 
and  sands,  and  hunger  and  thirst,  and  wild  beast  and  savage, 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  107 


one  hundred  thousand  men  are  now,  after  the  lapse  of  barely 
five  years  from  that  time,  delving  about  among  the  rocks  of 
California  for  gold,  and  knocking  at  the  door  of  the  Union  with 
two  State  governments  complete  I  Europeans  do  not  under* 
stand  us — they  have  no  standard  by  which  to  measure  us. 
What  would  they  think,  for  example,  of  an  enterprise  lately  set 
on  foot  by  a  private  individual,  to  penetrate,  with  sixty  men, 
into  the  heart  of  a  country  which  all  the  Spanish  chivalry,  led 
on  by  their  inordinate  thirst  for  gold,  were  never  able  to  even 
enter  ?  A  little  band  of  men  starting  on  the  Atlantic  coast,  or . 
at  Corpus  Christi  in  Texas,  and  travelling  fifteen  hundred  miles 
into  the  heart  of  an  utterly  unexplored  country,  supposed  to  be 
inhabited  by  a  wild,  fierce  race  of  fire-worshippers — kindred  of 
the  hapless  Aztec — perhaps  the  fountain  from  which  flowed 
that  unfortunate  race ! 

Does  any  one,  who  knows  the  American  character,  suppose 
that  that  race  of  gold  hunters,  quite  as  adventurous  and  far 
better  prepared  than  the  old  Spaniard,  will  be  long  hemmed  in 
by  the  narrow  line  called  the  Gila  River  ?  Can  a  rivulet  curb 
a  people  of  disappointed  miners,  with  arms  in  their  hands, 
when  the  other  bank  of  it  promises  wealth,  and  the  very 
essence  of  their  character  is  encroachment  ?  It  is  idle  to  sup- 
pose it  for  a  moment.  Sonora  is  already  within  their  grasp ; 
and  is  it  farther  from  there  to  Mexico  than  it  is  from  Washing- 
ton to  California  ? 

The  breaking  out  of  this  spirit,  in  1846,  was  a  grand  pro- 
phecy of  events  to  be  brought  about  by  this  same  facility  of 
emigration.  Not  a  state  that  was  called  upon,  especially  in 
the  West,  where  the  emigrating  people  live,  failed  to  raise,  at 
the  first  unfurling  of  the  flag,  large  numbers  more  of  volunteers 


108  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


than  were  called  for.  Not  a  regiment  but  was  full  to  over- 
flowing, and  hundreds  ready  to  fill  it;  could  they  only  be  per- 
mitted. Not  a  man  that  went  upon  that  campaign  and  came 
back,  would  not  go  again  and  again,  with  the  same  alacrity 
which  would  mark  his  step  were  he  on  his  way  home  from  a 
long  absence.  Mexico  was  invaded  by  ninety-six  thousand  men, 
raised  from  among  the  people  by  voluntary,  even  enthusiastic 
enlistment ;  and,  all  along  the  line  of  march,  may  now  be  found 
thousands  of  those  men  who  never  came  home,  not  because 
they  were  compelled  to  stay  away,  but  because  they  found 
localities  and  farms  upon  which  to  live.  Aye,  even  in  the 
towns  of  Mexico  itself,  and  in  Texas,  along  the  Rio  Grande, 
there  are  many  who  now  leaven  the  population,  rise  to  high 
posts  by  superior  intelligence,  and  will  play,  they  or  their  de- 
scendants, an  important  part  in  future  events.  The  march  of  our 
armies  into  Mexico,  was  an  emigration  as  well  as  an  invasion ; 
and  the  rush  towards  the  gold  mines  of  the  West,  will  yet  be 
found  to  lake  the  form  of  an  invasion  as  well  as  of  an  emigra- 
tion.  Twenty-five  years — one  short  quarter  of  a  century — ^will 
see  our  boundary  line  dropped  towards  the  equator  many  de- 
grees, and  the  Panuco  will  be  nearer  the  line  than  the  Gila,  the 
city  of  Mexico  itself  nearer  te  it  than  Santa  F^. 

These  are  events  distinctly  pointed  out  by  the  last  war,  and 
its  concomitants  and  consequences— events  to  be  realized  by  the 
encroaching  spirit  of  our  people,  much  sooner  than  is  generally 
expected.  The  volunteering  of  1846  will  be  a  precedent  for 
volunteering  of  every  successive  year  ;  and  gold  hunting  is 
as  strong  an  incentive  almost,  as  the  smell  of  gunpowder. 
J^e  regiment  to  which  our  friends  attached  themselves,  was 

e^cept.on  to  the  general  rule.     Companies  were  raised  and 


TALBOT  AND  YSBNON.  109 


reported  to  the  State  authorities  in  a  single  day.  Any  tree, 
under  which  the  crowd  might  assemhle,  served  for  a  recruiting 
office,  and  the  crown  of  a  man's  hat  was  a  table  upon  which  to 
write  the  names  of  volunteers.  Thorpe  took  the  lead  in  the 
enlistment  of  th£  company,  to  which  our  friend  Hugh  Manning 
belonged,  and  in  the  election  of  officers  refused  all  preferment. 
It  soon  became  understood  that  be  was  looking  forward  to  a 
higher  station ;  and  his  company  were  devoted  to  him,  even 
more  than  to  their  captain — a  staunch  old  soldier,  who  had 
"seen  service"  in  his  youth,  and  was  now  leaving  a  large 
family  **  to  join  the  ranks  of  war'*  in  his  age.  Hugh  was 
elected  a  second  lieutenant,  the  other  offices  were  filled,  and 
everything  was  in  readiness  to  march  to  the  place  of  rendezvous. 

Things  stood  thus— nobody  who  had  <*  volunteered"  doing 
anything  but  attend  the  daily  "  drill/'  and  cursing  the  delay, 
until  about  ten  days  after  the  transactions  of  the  last  chapter. 
At  last  came  an  order  to  march,  and  leave-takings  and  exchange 
of  tokens,  final  arrangements  for  absence,  and  notices  of  places 
where  to  muster,  occupied  the  following  day. 

It  was  Thursday  evening  of  the  third  week  in  May.  The 
battles  of  Falo  Alto  and  Resaca  de  la  Falma  had  been  fought 
and  won — the  streets  of  almost  every  town  in  the  United  States 
were  filled  by  men  in  uniform,  or  crowds  of  excited  citizens  ; 
and  the  scene  of  our  story  was  not  one  of  the  exceptions.  The 
following  morning  was  fixed  for  departure,  and  the  last  visits, 
(alas!  for  some  of  them  the  last,  indeed!)  were  being  made. 
Major  Bryce  had  received  orders  to  repair  immediately  to  New 
Orleans,  there  to  await  further  instructions,  and  Vernon  was  to 
set  out  with  him  early  on  the  following  morning.     He  was  to 


110  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


join  the  Major  at  his  own  house  at  six  in  the  morning,  and 
they  were  to  depart  by  the  mail  coach. 

"  All  ready  for  a  move  in  the  morning,  I  suppose,  Vernon,'* 
said  Thorpe,  as  they  met  on  the  street  just  at  dusk. 

"  Yes,"  said  Allen  ;  "  we  start  at  six — ^good  bye  I" 

"  Why  do  you  not  go  with  us  ?  Ah !  yes ;  T  had  forgotten , 
you  go  to  New  Orleans  direct,  I  believe  ?" 

«*  Yes — good  bye." 

"I  hope  we  shall  meet  further  on,  if  not  there." 

"  I  hope  so  ;  good  bye,  good  bye,  until  then,  at  least."  They 
shook  hands  and  hurried  on,  each  in  his  own  direction — Thorpe 
to  a  last  muster  and  roll-call  before  marching,  and  Vernon  to 
Colonel  Talbot's,  to  bid  Cara  farewell. 

'*  I  began  to  think,"  said  Cara,  as  he  seated  himself  beside 
her,  and  took  her  hand,  "  that  you  were  not  coming  to  bid  me 
good  bye  at  all." 

"  And  would  that  have  offended  you  ?"  he  asked. 

"  O !  of  course  not !"  she  answered ;  but  as  she  spoke  her 
head  drooped  upon  his  shoulder. 

"  Are  you  sorry  to  have  me  leave  you  ?"  he  whispered. 

"  When  will  you  return  ?"  she  asked,  suddenly. 

**  At  the  end  of  twelve  months,  perhaps,  and  perhaps  sooner." 

»*  You  must  come  sooner  if  you  can,"  she  murmured ;  and 
raising  her  head  with  a  smile,  she  continued — *'  Because,  if  you 
stay  longer,  I  may  forget  you." 

'<  I  am  not  afraid,"  said  Allen.  '*  But  if  you  shall  not  have 
forgotten  me,  when  I  return  will  you  then  be  mine." 

«*  You  have  never  told  me  you  wished  it,"  said  she. 

"  True,"  said  he  ;  "  the  twenty  days  are  just  up  to-night— I 
can  tell  you  now  what  you  know  already."  ' 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  m 


"  I  know  nothing,"  said  slie,  sitting  up,  and  withdrawing  her 
hand.     "  Come  now,  rehearse." 

He  caught  her  in  his  arms  and  pressed  his  lips  to  hers. 

"  That  is  the  only  rehearsal  you  shall  have,"  said  he. 

"  O !  such  rudeness !"  she  cried ;  "  and  without  even  telling 
me  he  loves  me !"  and  she  sprang  to  her  feet  and  affected  to  be 
angry.  But  his  earnest,  passionate  look  dissipated  her  playful- 
ness in  a  moment. 

"  Forgive  me,"  she  said,  seriously,  "  I  was  only  trying  to 
conceal  my  grief  by  an  affectation  of  good  spirits.  I  feel  really 
miserable  on  your  departure  ;  and  the  only  way  you  can  cheer 
me,"  resuming  her  smile,  **  is  to  take  advantage  of  the  expira- 
tion of  the  twenty  days." 

"  I  have  just  been  trying  to  do  so,"  said  he.  "  I  need  not  tell 
you  that  I  love  you  ;  and  I  know  you  love  me  in  return.  But 
you  are  young,  and  your  feelings  may  change — " 

"  Never  !"  she  exclaimed. 

'*  You  think  so  now,"  he  continued,  ** and  I  hope  so;  but  yet 
oae  at  your  age  can  never  speak  with  certainty  without  trial 
and  experience.  You  may  not  love  me  so  ;ivell,  perhaps,  after 
a  few  months'  absence  ;  and  it  would  be  both  cruel  and  suicidal 
for  me  to  take  advantage  of  a  passion  which  may  not  last  to — " 

"  Stop  1"  she  said  ;  "  I  know  what  you  would  say — you 
think  if  you  leave  me  for  a  year,  and  I  love  you  when  you  re- 
turn, you  can  then  rely  upon  my  affection — not  otherwise." 

"  Not  that  I"  he  broke  in  eagerly — "not  that.  I  mean  that  I 
do  not  wish  to  do  anything  which  the  lapse  of  time,  with  the 
changes  which  it  may  bring,  will  stamp  as  hasty  or  dishonor- 
able.    When  I  return  you  will  be  older,  you  will  have  had 


112  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


tune  to  confirm  your  feelings,  and  assure  yourself  of  their  per- 
manence or  their  evanescence  ;  and  then — " 

"  And  then  ?"  she  asked,  smiling. 

'<  Then/'  said  he,  earnestly,  '*  if  you  do  not  change  you  will 
be  mine — will  you  not  ?" 

"  I  am  already  engaged  to  be  married  to  another,"  said  she. 

**  What !"  he  exclaimed ;  '<  engaged  to  be  married  to  ano* 
ther  */'     He  withdrew  his  arm  and  recoiled  from  her. 

**  Even  so,''  said  she,  retaining  his  hand,  however,  and  lean- 
ing her  arm  on  his  shoulder,  while  she  smiled  in  his  face. 
^^  You  are  surprised,"  she  continued ;  ^'  but  let  me  explain. 
The  reason  why,  when  you  took  me  so  much  by  surprise  three 
weeks  ago,  I  forbade  you  to  say  more  about  this  for  twenty 
days — a  command  which,  by  the  way,  you  have  but  indiffer- 
ently obeyed — was  this  :  by  the  wish  of  my  father  a  short  time 
ago,  I  suffered  him  to  tell  Morris  Thorpe  that  my  hand  would 
be  his  on  my  arriving  at  the  age  of  eighteen ;  but  with  this 
reservation  and  condition — provided  I  saw  nobody  in  the  mean- 
time whom  I  liked  better.  Morris  was  pleasant,  agreeable, 
and  devoted ;  I  liked  him  better  than  any  one  else  then,  be- 
cause he  flattered  me  most  and  best.  But  time  passed  on,  and 
I  met  you.  I  will  not  conceal  now,  that  I  loved  yon  almost 
from  the  first ;  and  that,  when  you  took  me  by  surprise  in  that 
room,  I  had  a  hard  struggle  to  avoid  avowing  it  fully.  Duty 
prevailed  at  last,  though,  as  I  have  said,  after  a  hard  struggle. 
I  though  then,  as  you  do  now,  that  this  might  be  but  a  whim — 
a  temporary  feeling  excited  by  your  face,  your  form,  or  your 
talents;  and  upon  such  a  flimsy  foundation— do  not  blush,  you 
are  handsome  enough  without  that,  to  make  a  fool  of  me— 
upon  such  a  flimsy  foundation,  I  did  not  wish  to  do  wrong  to, 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  113 

or  injure  the  feelings  of  one  whom  I  had  esteemed  so  long  and 
so  well,  as  I  had  Morris.  I  desired  to  wait  for  twenty  days,  to 
examine  my  own  heart,  to  sound  the  depths  of  my  own  feel- 
ings, so  as  to  be  able  to  act  advisedly.  You  may  think  this 
cool  calculation  was  hardly  compatible  with  warm,  genuine 
afifection ;  but  if  love  ever  leads  us  to  disregard  the  rights  and 
feelings  of  others,  even  in  the  smallest  thing,  I  desire  never  to 
feel  it.  I  wished  to  save  Morris'  feelings,  though  I  loved  you 
none  the  less,  but  rather  more  ;  for  she  who  cannot  respect  the 
feelings  of  others,  has  no  feelings  of  her  own  worth  asking  for. 
You  did  not  obey  me  very  implicitly,  Allen ;  but  my  stipulation 
excused  me  from  answering ;  and  to  own  the  truth,  that  object 
gained,  your  warm  expressions  were  not  distasteful — were, 
rather,  very  pleasant  to  my  ears.  The  twenty  days  are  now 
past."     She  paused. 

« And  now,''  said  Allen,  "  you  are  ready  to  tell  me  that 
when  I  return  you  will  be  mine  ?" 

"  If  you  wish  it,"  said  she. 

"  You  do  not  doubt  that  V*  he  exclaimed. 

"  O,  no  I"  said  she ;  "  though,  in  justice,  I  ought  to  doubt 
you  as  much  as  you  do  me — ought  I  not?" 

"I  do  not  doubt  you,  Qira,"  said  Allen,  earnestly.  "It 
would  be  almost  blasphemy  to  doubt,  now!" 

**  Well,"  said  Cara,  ^^  I  do  not  like  blasphemers,  so  do  you 
not  become  one.  But  do  you  not  think  I  ought  to  tell  Morris 
how  my  feelings  have  changed  before  he  leaves  us  ?" 

"  By  all  means,"  said  Allen. 

"  I  knew  you  would  say  so,"  said  Cara.  "  If  I  had  been  po- 
sitively ^iic^e  I  would  have  told  him  long  ago— or  at  least, 
before  now.     You  know  the  old  verse, — 


114  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


"  It  if  good  to  be  merry  and  wiie, 
It  if  good  to  be  honest  and  true ; 
It  is  good  to  be  o/f  with  the  old  love. 
Before  yon  are  on  with  the  new.-* 

"  But  Morris  was  never  precisely  a  *  love'  of  mine,  old  or  new, 
and  I  now  feel  that  he  never  could  have  been." 

"  He  will  be  here  to-night,  I  suppose  ?'* 

"  He  said  he  would  join  us  at  supper,  at  nine — some  business 
detains  him  until  near  that  hour." 

"  You  will  explain  to  him  then,  will  you  not?"  he  inquired 
anxiously.    "  He  will  march  to-morrow  morning  at  five  o'clock." 

"I  know,"  replied  Cara.     "  I  will  explain  to-night." 

**  And  then,  dearest,  you  will  be  mine  only?" 

"  But  lovers*  conversations,  especially  upon  the  eve  of  a  sepa- 
ration, are  seldom  interesting  to  any  one  but  themselves ;  and, 
besides,  we  have  no  right  to  lay  open  their  intercourse,  further 
than  is  absolutely  necessary  to  our  story.  Let  it  suffice,  then, 
that  they  passed  the  hour  succeeding  in  that  kind  of  conversation 
which  all  who  have  passed  their  second  decade  will  be  able  to 
imagine.  It  was  very  tender,  of  course,  and  very  tautological, 
but  not  the  less  happy  to  them.  As  the  hour  approached  at 
which  they  might  expect  to  be  interrupted,  Allen  rose  to  bid 
her  farewell.  It  seems  strange  that  lovers  would  rather  have 
their  parting  to  themselves  at  six  o'clock  than  remain  together 
tiir  twelve  and  have  witnesses  to  their  adieux.  So  it  is,  at  all 
events ;  and  Allen  rose  to  take  leave. 

"  You  will  not  forget  me,  Cara,"  said  he,  affectionately. 

"  O  no  I"  she  said,  smiling,  but  trembling  too,  "O  nol  how 

could  I  ?"     And  she  threw  herself  into  his  arms  and  struggled 

to  retain  her  composure.     But  footsteps  were  heard  in  the  hall 

— they  always  are  at  sucVi  momeuXs,  \xxdQt\\vQsjX^Vj — and  he 


T4LB0T  AND  VERNON.  II5 

released  her  gradually,  and  held  her  from  him,  gazing  earnestly 
into  her  eyes,  now  filled  with  tears. 

"  Farewell,  then,"  said  he,  and  turned  away. 

"  I'll  not  forget,"  she  said,  and  as  he  passed  through  the  door 
she  retreated  hastily  into  her  private  parlor. 

"  Will  you  not  stay  to  supper  with  us,"  asked  Cara's  mother, 
to  whom  we  owe  an  apology  for  keeping  her  in  the  back-ground. 

**  Unfortunately,"  said  Allen,  "  I  have  an  engagement,"  and 
hurried  on. 

But  a  few  minutes  elapsed  before  Thorpe  entered,  and  pro- 
ceeded immediately  and  familiarly  to  seek  Cara.  She '  was, 
however,  too  much  indisposed  to  appear  immediately,  and  Mor- 
ris and  two  gentlemen  who  were  with  him,  (of  one  of  whom, 
Mr.  Clayton,  the  reader  will  hear  more  in  the  sequel,)  had  to 
content  themselves  with  the  company  of  Mrs.  Talbot  and  Mary 
Bryce,  who  was  there  also.  This  was  dull  enough ;  for  the 
elder  lady  was  never  famous  for  the  brilliancy  of  her  conversa- 
tion,  and  the  younger,  after  casting  her  eyes  eagerly  around  the 
empty  room  on  entering,  threw  herself  upon  a  sofa  and  became 
emulous  of  Mrs.  Talbot's  taciturnity.  At  the  end  of  half  an 
hour,  however,  Cara  appeared,  fresh  and  beautiful  as  ever,  but 
looking  much  more  grave  than  usual.  It  immediately  occurred 
to  Miss  Bryce  that  it  was  a  very  serious  matter  to  part  with  dear 
friends  for  a  long  time  ;  and  the  expression  of  her  face  straight- 
way changed  from  the  sulky  to  the  funereal.  She  was  soon 
relieved  from  her  arduous  exertions,  however,  and  probably 
saved  the  trouble  of  forcing  actual  tears  by  the  announcement 
of  supper — the  idea  of  good  eating  operating  on  her  like  magic. 
At  the  supper  table,  several  attempts  were  made  to  get  up 
somethii?^  JJke  gaiety,  but  without  success.     Thorpe  "W^A  Wv^ 


116  TAI-BOT  AND  VBRNOJ^T. 

only  person  who  appeared  really  unconcerned ;  and  after  a  time 
even  he  began  to  fall  into  the  prevailing  tone.  It  is  a  very  com« 
mon  thing  in  life— what  we  have  looked  forward  to  as  a  very 
pleasant  meeting,  has  often  turned  out  cold,  spiritless  and  wea- 
risome, and  many  a  poor  devil  has  been  dragged  almost  by  force 
to  a  dinner  or  a  ball,  which  he  nevertheless  enjoyed  exceedingly. 
The  former  was  the  case  with  this  supper ;  it  had  been  an- 
ticipated by  all  there  as  a  pleasant  re-union  of  a  few  friends, 
meeting  the  last  time  for  many  months — and  instead  of  this  it 
was  found  dull,  stupid,  almost  lachrymose — after  Mary  had  dis- 
posed of  a  pound  or  two  of  the  viands  at  least. 

They  returned  to  the  drawing-room  almost  like  a  funeral  pro- 
cession ;  and  very  soon  afterwards  signs  of  dissolution  began  to 
be  seen.  Thorpe  had  brought  Mary  there — ^for  it  did  not  yet 
suit  his  purposes  to  throw  off  the  mask  with  her — and  he  now 
began  to  fear  he  would  be  hurried  away  without  having  opportu- 
nity of  saying  a  word  to  Cara  in  private.  One  of  the  gentlemen 
understood  him,  however,  and  drew  the  general  attention  an- 
other way  ;  thus  giving  him  the  opportunity  he  had  been  seek- 
ing for  an  hour. 

"  I  shall  have  to  take  Mary  home,"  he  then  said,  hastily, 
"  will  you  not  see  me  a  moment  on  my  way  back  ?" 

'<  I  cannot,"  said  Cara,  in  the  same  tone,  "  I  am  too  much 
indisposed.  But  here  is  a  note  for  you  which  you  can  read 
afterwards."  She  slipped  a  paper  into  his  hand  and  turned 
away.  Soon  afterwards  a  general  shaking  of  hands  took  place, 
Mary  at  last  succeeding  in  forcing  a  few  tears,  though  she  bade 
nobody  farewell,  except  those  who  were  not  going  away. 

"  You  will  not  see  me  then  ?"  said  Thorpe,  as  he  took  Cara's 
band. 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.    ^  117 


<*  I  cannot/'  she  replied,  and  he  was  gone.     Another  scene 
had  to  be  enacted  at  Major  Bryce's  door,  where  Morris  kissed 
Mary  innumerable  times  and  hoped  to  get  away  at  each  em- 
brace.    He  tore  himself  away  at  last,  and  finally  was  at  liberty 
to  open  Cara's  note.     It  ran  thus : 

**  Dear  Mr.  Thorpe  :  I  will  have  no  opportunity  to  speak  pri- 
vately to  you  to-night  and  I  am  compelled  to  write.  It  would 
not  be  nght  in  me  to  allow  you  to  go  away  under  a  false  im- 
pression. You  have  been  accustomed  to  consider  me  your  fu- 
ture wife  ;  but  this  arrangement  was  subject  to  a  contingency, 
which  has  now  intervened.  This  being  the  fact,  of  course  the 
engagement,  (if  there  was  one,)  falls  to  the  ground.  Forgive 
me,  but  believe  me. 

Sincerely  your  friend, 

Cara  Talbot/' 

"  If  there  was  one  !"  he  repeated,  crushing  the  paper  in  his 
hand,  and  striding  across  the  room.  "  There  was  and,  by  God, 
there  shall  be  again  !" 

The  next  morning  they  were  all  "  off  to  the  wars." 


End  of  Book  i. 


BOOK    SECOND. 


CHAPTER  I. 

*^  Death  and  danger  dog  the  heels  of  worth." — ^Two  OcrrTLEMtM  or  Yxrona. 
"  Away !  away  !  and  on  we  dash.^^MAZEPPA. 

Passing  over  a  space  of  about  eight  months,  more  or  less,  we 
must  ask  the  reader  to  accompauy  us  to  the  seat  of  war. 

During  that  period,  the  troops  called  out  by  the  President 
had  been  raised,  organized,  equipped  and  formed  in  divisions 
—they  had  marched  into  the  enemy's  country,  crossed  immense 
deserts  and  fought  many  battles — they  had  met  the  enemy  upon 
his  own  soil,  while  their  own  base  of  operations  was  more  than 
a  thousand  miles  distant,  and  had  overrun  immense  provinces. 
The  battle  of  Monterey  had  thrown  the  Mexican  forces  back 
more  than  three  hundred  miles  within  their  territory,  and  the 
advances  upon  Victoria  and  Saltillo  had  driven  them  to  take 
refuge  beyond  the  immense  deserts  of  Agttas  calientes  in  San 
Luis  Potosi.  The  Army  of  the  Centre  had  crossed  the  Rio 
Grande,  marched  through  the  length  of  Coahuila,  taken  possess- 
ion of  Parras  and  returned  at  the  summons  of  Greneral  Taylor  to 
Agua  Nueva,  twenty-five  miles  south  of  Saltillo.  The  Army  of 
the  West  had  crossed  the  plains  from  Independence,  taken  pos- 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  119 


session  of  Santa  Fe  and  the  whole  State  of  New  Mexico- 
General  Kearny  had  passed  on  to  California — and  Colonel 
Doniphan  was  already  on  his  hazardous  and  romantic  march  to 
Chihuahua,  where  he  expected  to  find  General  Wool.  General 
Scott  had  been  ordered  to  Mexico  in  the  November  previous, 
and  was  now  concentrating  his  forces  for  the  attack  upon  Vera 
Cruz  and  the  brilliant  march  to  Mexico.  Santa  Anna  had 
returned  to  Mexico  in  the  fall,  and  was  collecting  and  disciplin- 
ing the  only  army,  worthy  of  the  name,  that  Mexico  raised  after 
the  rout  of  Resaca  de  la  Palma.  There  was  a  lull  in  the 
storm,  during  which  each  party  seemed  to  nerve  himself  for  a 
final  and  a  fatal  struggle.  Santa  Anna  had  intercepted  General 
Scott's  despatches  to  General  Taylor,  detailing  in  full  his  plan 
of  operations,  and  disclosing  his  point  of  attack.  But  the  Mex- 
ican General  knew  the  weakness  in  numerical  strength  of 
General  Taylor's  army  ;  and  he  calculated,  that  he  could  sweep 
the  valley  of  the  Rio  Grande,  and  yet  return  to  Vera  Cruz,  in 
time  to  meet  the  attack  there.  He  was  therefore  straining  every 
nerve,  at  San  Luis,  to  drill  and  equip  his  army.  With  the  view 
of  making  a  rapid  advance  and  a  thoroughly  victorious  march. 
No  one  will  deny,  that  some  such  good  fortune  was  absolutely 
necessary  to  raise  the  drooping  spirits  of  the  Mexicans — for 
certainly  a  more  uninterrupted  series  of  defeats  had  never  be- 
fallen a  nation.  If  he  could  fall  with  a  superior  force  upon 
General  Taylor's  column,  weakened,  as  it  was,  by  drafts  for  the 
new  expedition,  and  crush  it  in  its  forlorn  situation,  he  might 
reasonably  hope  to  re-inspirit  the  nation,  to  preserve  the  integrity 
of  his  army  and  successfully  to  resist  the  advance  of  Scott.  He 
had  a  weary  march  of  over  four  hundred  miles  to  make ;  the 
most  of  it,  through  deserts  utterly  barren  of  food  and  exvVvc^\>j 


120  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


ivithout  water,  for  many  miles  together — yet,  at  the  end  of  the 
journey,  lay  the  fertile  valley  of  the  San  Juan  and  the  rich  cities 
of  Saltillo  and  Monterey.  He  had  a  determined  enemy  to  fight 
— but  that  enemy  was  few  in  number  and  new  to  the  service. 
Could  he  drive  them  beyond  Monterey,  could  he  even  gain  a 
decisive  victory,  without  following  it  up,  he  would  so  invigorate 
the  whole  people,  that  he  might  well  hope  to  close  the  gates  of 
the  country,  upon  the  scanty  force  about  to  throw  itself  upon 
the  beach  at  Vera  Cruz.  If  ever  a  country  needed  a  victory, 
Mexico  needed  it  then ;  and  Santa  Anna,  slightly  as  he  is 
esteemed,  knew  full  well  the  value  of  success.  Here  was  the 
grand  turning  point  of  the  war ;  wherever  victory  perched 
now,  she  must,  by  the  nature  of  things,  remain  for  a  longtime. 
And  the  Mexican  General  set  about  his  preparations  for  the 
crisis,  with  a  zeal  and  ability  worthy  of  better  support,  and  a 
better  name. 


Late  in  the  afternoon  of  a  warm  day  in  the  early  part  of 
February,  two  horsemen  might  have  been  seen  riding  slowly 
along  a  wide  and  dusty  road,  which  led  across  an  immense 
plain  some  fifty  miles  from  Saltillo.  They  were  both  3roung, 
and  both  evidently  Americans.  One  of  them,  the  shorter  and 
heavier,  wore  the  plain  uniform  of  a  lieutenant  in  the  infantry — 
the  costume  of  the  other  indicated  no  special  rank  or  corps ; 
but  was  rather  a  mixture  of  each,  the  wearer  having  selected 
such  articles  from  the  uniforms  of  each  army,  as  were  most  com- 
fortable and  convenient.  He  wore  a  plain  dragoon  jacket,  with 
its  yellow  stripes  somewhat  tarnished — a  pair  of  the  heavy 
white  cotton  pants  worn  by  the  infantry,  and  a  pair  of  red- 
topped  boots  over  them.    His  Yveadi  ^«j&  <iON^ted  by  a  broad 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  121 


palm  hat,  (sombrero^)  and  his  collar  was  confined  hy  a  plain 
black  cravat.  He  was  above  the  medium  height,  and  some- 
what slender ;  yet  the  ease  and  grace  with  which  he  sat  his 
horse,  and  the  dexterity  with  which  he  managed  him,  gave 
evidence  of  both  strength  and  activity.  His  light  brown  whis- 
kers, and  curling  nuncstachioSy  concealed  the  lower  part  of  his 
face ;  and  its  upper  features  were  nearly  hidden  by  the  broad 
sombrero.  But  a  calm,  clear,  and  flashing  eye  of  dark  brown, 
and  a  straight,  finely-cut  nose,  with  the  nostril  well  opened, 
were  visible  between  these  two  concealments ;  and  the  smooth, 
round  throat,  though  embrowned  by  the  sun,  redeemed  the 
promise  of  manly  beauty,  given  by  the  perfectly-shaped,  though 
sun-burned  hand. 

His  companion  was  as  unlike  him  in  form  and  feature,  as  in 
dress.  Rather  below  than  above  the  medium  height,  he  was 
broad  in  the  shoulders,  deep  in  the  chest,  and  long  in  the  arm. 
His  limbs  were  muscular,  brawny,  and  large ;  and  his  features, 
though  far  from  ugly,  answered  to  this  outline.  A  heavy  black 
beard  grew  all  over  the  lower  part  of  his  face,  and  even  down 
upon  his  throat ;  while  the  infantry  cap  he  wore  gave  so  little 
protection  from  the  sun,  that  the  upper  features  were  scarcely 
two  shades  lighter.  Altogether,  his  was  a  form  and  a  face  we 
would  have  selected  as  a  fair  specimen  of  the  army,  which  was 
then  lying  some  thirty  miles  from  them,  at  Agua  Nueva. 

Difiering  in  other  respects  they  were  armed  and  equipped  at 
almost  every  po'mt  alike.  Each  wore  a  heavy  cavalry  sabre, 
such  as  is  worn  by  dragoon  officers,  with  light,  well-polished 
scabbard,  and  long,  crooked  blade.  The  hilts  were  studded 
with  brass,  and  hung  dangling  against  the  saddle  behind  the 
riders.     Each  wore  a  pair  of  pistols,  one  of  which  wua  «i  i^-. 


122  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 

volver ;  and  each  had  stuck  in  his  belt  a  long,  heavy  knife — a 
provision  for  abnost  any  emergency,  from  a  hand-to-hand  fight 
to  an  attack  upon  the  rough  fare  of  the  soldier.  Each  car- 
ried sr  serapCy  or  Spanish  blanket,  tied  on  behind  his  saddle, 
and  a  large  gourd  tied  to  the  saddle  bow — one  of  those  singu- 
larly-shaped things  which  look  as  if  two  gourds  had  grown  to- 
gether at  the  necks,  pushing  out  another  neck  from  the  other 
end  of  the  smaller  one.  Each,  to  complete  his  equipment,  car- 
ried a  haversack,  in  which  there  seemed  to  be  no  great  store 
of  provisions.  The  only  material  difference  in  their  accoutre- 
ments was  a  light  rifle,  carried  by  the  taller  of  the  two,  and  a 
small  flask  and  bullet-pouch  hung  around  his  neck  and  under  his 
right  arm.  They  were  riding  the  small  horses  of  the  country — 
those  hardy  and  active  animals,  as  necessary  and  appropriate 
to  this  country  as  the  camel  to  Arabia.  They  had  been  riding 
without  water  since  morning,  without  rest,  except  an  hour  at 
noon  for  refreshment ;  yet  these  animals  showed  no  signs  of 
fatigue,  but  stepped  as  lightly  and  as  proudly  as  when  mounted 
in  the  morning. 

As  evening  approached,  the  plain  over  which  they  had  been 
riding  began  to  diminish  in  width — the  two  ridges  of  moun- 
tains upon  each  hand  began  to  close  in,  and  what  in  the  mom* 
ing  had  been  a  deep  blue,  scarcely  distinguishable  from  the  sky, 
now  began  to  assume  the  sterile  gray  color  of  granite  rocks, 
Relieved  here  and  there  by  a  grove  of  pines,  a  patch  of  grass, 
or  a  long  line  of  moss,  where  the  waters  ran  over  the  naked 
rocks  in  the  rainy  season.  Every  few  hundred  yards  they  fol- 
lowed the  road  around  some  bold  spur  of  the  mountains,  jut- 
ting out  into  the  plain,  and  covered  with  a  stunted  growth  of 
misqait  and  cactus.    Gradually  \ucxeas\ng  in  thickpess,  as  they 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  12S 


neared  the  upper  end  of  the  valley,  the  misquit  began  to 
appear  upon  the  level  plain ;  and  a  little  farther  on,  a  thiek 
undergrowth,  like  the  chaparral  found  farther  east,  almost 
closed  the  view  from  the  road. 

It  was  now  that  a  speck  of  dust,  which  had  been  following 
them  since  their  start  at  noon,  began  to  close  upon  them  ;  and 
aeon  after  another  speck  appeared  far  behind,  larger  than  the 
first,  and  gradually  gaining  on  it*  A  few  minutes  more,  and,  had 
iiot  the  undergrowth  been  too  thick  to  allow  it,  the  horsemen 
might  have  seen  two  other  horsemen  riding  their  horses  at  an 
easy  gallop,  and  standing  erect  in  the  stirrups,  instead  of  sit- 
ting upon  the  saddle  as  Americans  do.  They  were  Mexicans, 
armed  in  the  fashion  of  the  cavalry  of  that  nation,  only  with- 
out the  lance»  and  wearing  no  xmiform,  except  the  national  one  : 
slashed  pantaloons,  numerous  buttons,  and  exceedingly  scanty 
jacket — the  shirt  appearing  in  large  folds  between  the  two  gar- 
ments, which,  on  a  Mexican,  never  meet.  They  were  equip- 
ped "With  scrape,  gourd,  and  spurs,  like  the  Americans,  and  rode 
horses  of  the  same  breed. 

As  they  rode  easily  on,  the  second  cloud  of  dust  rapidly 
closed  upon  them;  and  as  they  reached  the  covered  ground 
where  they  could  no  longer  see  a  great  distance  before  them, 
they  suddenly  pulled  up  and  turned  to  meet  the  new  comers,  as 
if  they  were  of  the  same  party.  Six  dark,  fierce-looking  fellows 
rode  forward  and  halted  at  a  sign  from  one  of  the  first  two. 
Turning  a  little  from  the  road  they  assembled  together  under  & 
large  misquit ^  and  a  hurried  consultation  ensued.  Soon  after- 
wards they  all  came  out  again  into  the  road.  One  of  those  who 
had  ridden  bef<c»re,  a  tall,  swarthy  fellow,  with  fine,  though  fierce 
features  assumed  the  command^  and  t^e  si:;^  agwi  ftXailed  o\^ 


124  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 

^ 

though  very  slowly.  The  other  two  left  the  road,  one  on  each 
hand,  and  rode  for  half  an  hour  in  a  swift  gallop  ;  then,  slacking 
up,  they  slowly  and  stealthily  approached  the  road. 

In  the  meantime  the  Americans  rode  easily  forward,  talking 
occasionally  of  some  feature  of  the  grand  landscape,  but  the 
greater  part  of  the  time  absorbed  in  the  contemplation  of  one 
of  those  stupendous  views  so  often  met  in  Mexico — ^where 
mountains  of  great  height  and  a  rugged  grandeur,  come  sharply 
down  upon  a  dead  level,  as  if  they  had  been  dropped  there  from 
a  great  height  and  had  sunk  deep  into  the  desert.  They  had 
been  riding  since  morning,  as  we  have  said,  almost  without  rest, 
and  the  whole  distance — more  than  twenty  leagues — they  had 
been  passing  over  a  flat  but  dry  plain — upon  the  dazzling  sur- 
face of  which  no  green  thing  was  visible,  except  different  vari- 
eties of  the  cactus  and  an  occasional  stunted  misguit ;  while 
between  these  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach  along  the  endless 
level,  the  parched  ground  showed  a  surface  nearly  white, 
bounded  only  by  the  hazy,  silvery  sheen  of  the  sun  upon  the 
the  salim  groun4  in  the  far  horizon.  Upon  each  hand,  however, 
in  the  morning  almost  beyond  view,  but  closing  up,  like  the 
movement  of  the  wheeling  wings  of  an  army  towards  even- 
ing— stretched  ranges  of  mountains  of  almost  equal  heights, 
and  almost  equally  precipitous.  They  looked  like  high  walls  of 
green  and  gray,  presenting  at  the  distance  of  a  few  miles  an 
apparently  unbroken  surface.  But  as  they  gradually  came 
nearer,  the  lonely  riders  could  make  out  occasional  lines  of  sha- 
dow deeper  than  the  rest,  and  within  these,  though  they  could 
not  see  them,  were  long,  winding,  wild  ravines,  cut  in  tortuous 
lines,  sheer  down  into  the  mountains,  by  ever-running  springs 
^nd  roaiing  cataracts.     In  these  daiVi  x^ue^ts  were  cool  grottoes 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  126 


and  pleasant  groves,  hanging  over  precipices  hundreds  of  feet 
high  ;  crystal  mountain-springs,  the  waters  of  which  were  dried 
by  the  parched  throat  of  the  earth,  long  before  they  reached  the 
plain ;  high  pine  forests  of  great  extent,  sublime  in  their  loneli- 
ness ;  and  moss-covered  rocks,  upon  which  no  foot  but  that  of 
the  mountain  goat  had  ever  trod.  As  they  came  still  nearer, 
these  ravines  yawned  out,  like  the  mouths  of  haunted  caverns ; 
and  it  needed  but  little  stretch  of  fancy  to  people  the  lowering 
darkness  beyond  with  demons  and  evil  spirits. 

Immediately  in  front  of  our  travellers,  at  the  distance  of  five 
or  six  miles,  the  two  ranges  of  mountains  seemed  suddenly  to 
have  met  and  recoiled  like  strangers  in  a  dark  place — leaving  a 
gap  apparently  some  thirty  yards  in  width,  cut  almost  down  to 
the  plain  ;  and  over  this  gap  two  high  peaks,  with  perpendicular 
and  craggy  sides,  stood,  as  if  gazing  down  into  a  fathomless  abyss. 

"  This,  I  suppose,"  said  the  taller  of  the  horsemen,  "  is  the 
Pass  of  Pinones." 

"  If  we  are  right  in  our  reckoning,"  replied  his  companion, 
"  which  I  doubt.  We  must  find  water  soon,  at  any  rate."  As 
he  spoke,  he  disengaged  his  gourd  from  the  saddle-bow  and  held 
it  to  his  lips.  "  There  goes  the  last  drop  of  that — and  warm  as 
new  milk,  too." 

**  We  shall  not  find  any  water,  I  think,"  said  the  first  speaker, 
*<  until  we  pass  the  mountains  there  ;  on  the  other  side  there  is 
a  small  stream." 

**  Yes ;  and  brackish  as  the  brine  in  the  bottom  of  a  mackerel 
barrel,"  said  the  shorter,  with  a  look  of  great  disgust. 

"  True ;  but,  Hugh,  you  ought  to  recollect  that  we  cannot 
expect  all  the  blessings  of  a  fine  country  well- watered,  in  this 
parched  desert." 


2M  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 

**  Certainly  not/'  said  Hugh,  <<  but  still  there  is  good  water 
in  Mexico." 

**  Assuredly,"  said  his  companion ;  "  and  there  may  be  good 
water  within  four  miles  of  us,  now,  endless  as  seems  the  sand." 

"  What  good  will  it  do  us  if  we  cnnot  find  it  ?" 

'<  It's  a  pleasant  idea,  at  the  least,"  said  the  other. 

'*  And  only  an  idea — there's  the  misfortune,"  said  the  less 
patient  of  the  couple,  spurring  his  horse  forward  as  he  spoke. 
**  We  have  been  making  reconnoissances  for  several  days,"  said 
he ;  "  and  now  I  am  for  making  another — on  our  own  business 
this  time,  too." 

As  he  spoke  he  turned  a  little  from  the  path,  and  galloping 
hastily  to  the  top  of  one  of  the  spurs  which  touched  the  road, 
cast  a  rapid  glance  upon  the  plain  around  him.  He  gazed  for- 
ward for  a  minute,  and  then  turned  to  trace  the  road  over  whi^ 
they  had  come.  A  long  line  of  dust,  settling  gradually  back 
into  the  road,  from  which  there  was  not  breeze  enough  to  carry 
it,  attracted  his  attention  immediately.  It  could  not  be  the  dust 
raised  by  himself  and  his  companion  for  they  had  ridden  slowly — 
and  by  the  distance  over  which  the  dust  extended  he  knew  that 
they  who  raised  it  must  have  ridden  rapidly.  Another  circum- 
stance caught  his  eye — for  men  on  dangerous  expeditions  like 
theirs  have  their  faculties  always  on  the  stretch — the  line  of 
dust  suddenly  ceased  about  two  miles  in  their  rear  ;  much  more 
suddenly  than  the  chaparral  would  account  for.  He  bent  his 
eyes  eagerly  on  the  spot,  but  the  gleaming  sun  blinded  him. 

"  What  are  you  looking  at  so  steadily  ?"  said  his  companion, 
riding  gently  up  beside  him.  But  his  eyes,  too,  caught  the 
cloud  and  became  fixed. 

"  There  is  something  wrong  there,  Manning,"  said  he,  un- 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  1^7 


swinging  a  field-glass  from  his  shoulder  and  levelling  it  at  the 
spot. 

"  Let  us  get  down,'*  said  Hugh  Manning,  "  we  are  too  con- 
spicuous here/'     But  Vernon  still  gazed  through  the  glass. 

"  The  mountain  is  behind  us/'  said  he,  quietly,  "  they  cannot 


see  us." 


As  he  spoke  the  sun  suddenly  dipped  behind  the  Western 
ridge,  and  the  line  of  his  light  ran  rapidly  up  the  sides  of  the 
opposite  sierra,  as  if  hastening  to  the  sky.  All  objects  imme- 
diately became  more  distinct  on  the  plain,  and  the  dust  was  no 
longer  visible. 

'*  Quick !"  exclaimed  Vernon,  striking  the  spurs  into  his  horse 
so  suddenly  as  to  make  him  bound  at  once  into  the  chaparral, 
half  way  down  the  slope.  "  Quick !"  he  repeated,  "  ride  out  of 
sight,  the  sun  is  gone,  and  they  may  see  us.*' 

<*  But  who  are  they  ?"  asked  Hugh,  as  they  both  dismounted, 
and  returned  on  foot  to  the  hillock. 

<<  Eight  Mexicans,"  said  Allen  ;  pursuing  us,  too.  Do  you 
see  that — see  those  two  fellows ;  they  are  going  to  outflank 
us!" 

The  whole  party  were  now  plainly  in  view  through  the  clear 
atmosphere  of  those  elevated  regions ;  and  every  movement  was 
closely  watched  by  those  of  whom  they  were  in  pursuit. 

<*  Shall  we  fight  or  run  ?"  asked  Hugh,  feeling  his  knife  and 
loosening  his  pistols. 

«*  Both,"  said  Vernon  ;  "run  while  it  will  avail,  and  fight  only 
when  something  is  to  be  gained." 

"  But  our  horses — "  suggested  Hugh. 

"  And  theirs — "  said  Allen.  "  We  are  as  fresh  as  they,  and 
so  are  our  horses.     If  we  can  get  away  by  running,  it  is  cei- 


128  TALBOT  AND  VEBNON. 

tainly  onr  duty  to  do  so — the  information  we  carry  we  must  take 
into  camp ;  besides  to  stop  and  wait  for  a  fight  would  be  foolish." 

"Come  then,"  said  Hugh,  "  let  us  travel." 

They  had  mounted  their  horses,  after  looking  at  their  trap- 
pings to  see  them  secure,  during  the  conversation ;  and  now 
galloping  lightly  down  the  hill,  they  regained  the  road  and 
sprang  away  with  a  speed  scarcely  to  have  been  expected  from 
their  jaded  horses. 


CHAPTER     II. 

"  Bootless  speed ; 
When  cowardice  pursues,  and  valor  flies."— Midsummer  NiaHx's  Drbam. 

"  The  night  is  glooming  on  us.'' — Fbstus. 

Our  friends,  whom  we  thus  meet  again  in  a  strange  land, 
had  been  actuated  by  the  restless  spirit,  engendered  in  a  camp 
by  long  inaction ;  and,  at  their  own  request,  had  been  allowed 
to  accompany  a  reconnoitering  party,  set  out  five  days  previous 
to  the  day  upon  which  we  again  find  them  riding  alone  over  a 
wide  plain.  They  had  been  separated  from  their  companions, 
by  an  accident  which  does  not  concern  us,  and  had  stumbled, 
while  following  unintelligible  directions,  (the  only  directions 
one  ever  gets  in  Mexico,)  upon  the  information,  which  they 
supposed  their  companions  had  not  acquired — namely,  the  pre- 
sence in  that  quarter  of  a  large  body  of  well-appointed  cavalry, 
afterwards  ascertained  to  be  the  advance-guard  of  Santa  Anna's 
force,  under  General  Mifion.  With  this  information,  which  they 
erroneously  supposed  they  were  alone  in  the  possession  of,  they 
had,  for  three  days,  been  endeavoring  to  make  their  way  to 
Agua  Nueva.  After  escaping  numerous  parties  of  the  enemy, 
they  now  found  themselves  compelled  to  trust  the  speed  of 
their  horses,  when  they  had  supposed  themselves  entirely  out  of 
danger. 

"  Their  horses  must  be  more  fleet  than  I  suppose  them,'*  eaid 
6* 


130  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 

Allen,  as  they  rode  forward  at  a  quick  gallop,  "  if  they  catch 
118  before  dark.'' 

**  What  puzzles  me,"  said  Hugh,  '*  is  why  they  have  not 
come  up  with  us,  and  attacked  us  on  the  plain." 

**  There's  nothing  to  puzzle  you  in  that,"  answered  Vernon ; 
"  there  they  could  only  attack  us  openly." 

**  Yes ;  but  they  are  four  to  one  ;  and,  whatever  that  propor- 
tion may  be  between  two  armies,  here,  where  the  numbers  are 
eight  and  two,  they  might  be  pretty  sure  of  victory,  even  in  an 
open  plain." 

**  True,"  said  Allen ;  "  but  I  suppose  each  one  of  these  fel- 
lows values  his  whole  skin,  and  they  want  to  capture  us  with- 
out damage  to  themselves." 

**  That  they  shall  not  do,  anyhow,"  said  Hugh  coolly ;  and  he 
examined  each  of  his  weapons  successively. 

'*  Well,"  said  Allen,  with  a  smile,  after  watching  the  scru- 
tiny, "  are  they  all  in  order  ?" 

"  Perfectly,"  said  Hugh ;  "  powder  as  dry  as  my  throat." 

**  The  latter,  I  suppose,  wouldn't  object  to  a  little  moisture." 

"  Perhaps  not,"  said  Hugh,  "  nor  be  very  particular  about  the 
kind  of  moisture,  either." 

They  rode  on  thus  for  several  miles,  talking  lightly,  as  if  they 
were  in  no  danger,  and  each  rather  holding  in  the  spirit  of  his 
horse  than  urging  him  forward. 

"  What  do  you  think  was  the  object  of  those  two  fellows  ?" 
asked  Hugh,  making  a  gesture  to  indicate  the  Mexicans. 

**  To  get  ahead  of  us,  I  presume,"  said  Allen,  "  and  begin 
the  work  to  be  finished  by  their  friends  as  they  came  up." 

**  Let  us  ride  up  this  hill  and  get  a  view  of  the  rear."  As 
he  spoke  he  pushed  his  horse  up  the  hill,  followed  by  Allen. 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  I3I 


They  turned  round  on  the  summit,  and  gazed  along  the  road 
over  which  they  had  just  passed. 

«  There  they  are  !"  exclaimed  Vernon.  "There  !  just  in  the 
shadow  of  that  large  misquit,  beyond  the  second  point.'' 

"  I  see  them.     What  are  they  about  ?" 

"  Consulting,  I  suppose,  about  what  is  to  be  done,"  said  Allen, 
"when  they  ought  to  be  doing  it  with  all  their  might." 

As  he  spoke,  the  cluster  of  men,  scarcely  more  than  a  mile 
from  them,  suddenly  rode  out  into  open  view,  and  they  could 
distinctly  see  one  of  them  point  his  sword  towards  them.  A 
moment  afterwards  they  all  took  the  road  at  a  pace  which  pro- 
mised speedily  to  overtake  the  chase. 

"  Let  us  be  off,"  said  Allen ;  and  plunging  down  the  hill,  on 
the  other  side,  they  set  off  at  the  top  of  their  speed. 

"  We  have  nothing  to  trust  but  our  heels  now,  I  see,"  said 
Hugh ;  "  and  if  they  fail,  we  must  fight." 

"  The  race  is  not  always  to  the  swift,  nor  the  battle  to  the 
strong,"  said  Allen,  striking  his  spurs  into  his  horse's  flank  as 
they  again  reached  the  level  road.  But  as  he  spoke  his  horse 
sprang  forward,  came  down  upon  a  cactus  leaf,  which  lay  in 
the  road,  and  slipping,  fell  full  upon  his  head,  doubling  his  neck 
literally  under  his  body,  and  throwing  his  rider  far  over  his 
head.  He  struggled  once  or  twice,  and  then  his  limbs  stretched 
out,  and  he  was  still.  Hugh  checked  up  his  horse  so  suddenly 
as  almost  to  share  the  fate  of  his  companion ;  and  before  Allen 
could  rise,  he  was  beside  him. 

"  Are  you  hurt?"  he  asked,  anxiously  ;  "  are  you  hurt  ?" 

"  My  arm  is  broken,  I  believe,"  said  Allen.  "  Get  on  your 
horse,  Hugh,  and  ride  on.  I  will  lay  in  the  chaparral  here  till 
you  bring  assistance.  Three  or  four  hours  will  hx\x\%  "^o\x  to 
Agun  Nuera, 


132  TALBOT  AND  VEBNON. 


"  No,  no,"  said  Hugh.     "  You  get  up  behind  me — " 

**  That  won't  do,"  said  Allen,  hastily;  "  it  would  only  insure 
the  loss  of  both  our  lives ;  and  besides,  I  could  not  ride  now." 

*'  I'll  not  leave  you,  at  all  events,"  said  Hugh.  As  he  spoke 
he  drew  a  knife  from  his  pocket,  and^ut  a  large,  bushy  branch 
from  a  misquit,  and  approached  his  horse.  Fixing  the  branch 
securely  in  the  crupper,  he  gave  the  animal  a  sharp  blow  with 
the  flat  of  his  sword,  and  started  him  off  at  a  gallop.  The 
bush  fell  against  his  legs,  and  frightened  him  into  a  swift  race. 
Hugh  watched  him  until  he  disappeared  along  the  road,  plung- 
ing and  running  with  maddened  speed.     Then, 

**  Come  now,"  said  he,  turning  and  taking  Allen  by  the 
the  sound  arm,  **  let  us  get  off  the  road ;  I  hear  the  scoundrels 


coming." 


"  Why  did  you  drive  the  horse  away  ?"  asked  Allen,  as  Hugh 
dragged  him  hastily  into  the  chaparral. 

**  So  that  when  they  come  up,  they'll  not  stop  to  look  for  us, 
but  follow  on,  supposing  we  are  both  on  one  horse." 

"  But  if  they  come  up  with  him — " 

"  That  they'll  never  do,"  said  Hugh,  "  unless  they  follow  him 
to  Agua  Nueva.     Hush  !  here  they  come — lay  close,  now  I" 

They  crouched  down  among  the  chaparral,  Allen  suppress- 
ing the  wincing  which  the  pain  made  almost  inevitable ;  and 
they  coolly  awaited  the  approach  of  their  enemies,  whose  steps 
were  now  distinctly  audible.  Scarcely  half  a  minute  elapsed, 
before  eight  swarthy  fellows  rode  at  a  thundering  pace  into  the 
little  area  where  the  accident  had  happened,  and  pulled  up 
dfound  Allen's  horse.  They  gazed  around  on  the  quiet  scene 
thus  rudely  invaded,  and  glared  into  the  brush,  as  if  they  would 
penetrate  its  recesses. 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  188 


"  Its  lucky  this  cursed  country  has  a  little  grass  on  it  here," 
whispered  Hugh  ;  "  otherwise  they  might  track  us." 

"  Look  at  that  fellow,"  said  Allen,  directing  his  attention  to 
one  of  the  Mexicans  who  had  dismounted  and  was  carefully 
examining  the  ground. 

**  He  had  better  not  come  too  close,"  said  Hugh,  raising 
Allen's  rifle  and  quietly  cocking  it.  The  click  of  the  lock 
caught  the  man's  ear  as  he  gradually  neared  the  place  where 
t^y  lay ;  he  halted  and  listened  attentively ;  but  no  further 
sound  followed  and  he  quietly  turned  away  towards  the  spot 
where  Hugh  had  started  his  horse.  No  nation  on  earth  are  less 
observant  than  the  Mexicans ;  otherwise,  their  constant  warfare 
with  Indians  would  enable  them  to  acquire  a  portion  of  the 
savage's  skill  in  "  trailing."  Not  a  trace  of  this  is,  however,  to 
be  found  among  them;  and  this  national  dullness  stood  our 
friends  in  good  stead.  Had  this  man  had  a  tithe  of  the  quick- 
ness of  an  American,  he  would  at  once  have  perceived  that  the 
three  lines  of  footsteps  terminating  at  the  place  where  the 
horse's  tracks  were  numerous,  were  all  made  by  the  same  foot, 
and  that  two  of  the  lines  were  going  from  the  horse  and  only 
one  towards  him.  A  frontier  American  would  immediately 
have  comprehended  it,  by  a  course  of  reasoning  as  rapid  as  the 
lightning.  But  the  Mexican  was  of  another  race  ;  and  as  soon 
as  he  perceived  the  double  track,  he  at  once  fell  into  the  trap 
laid  for  him  by  Hugh.  Throwing  himself  upon  the  ground  he 
listened  and  could  plainly  hear  the  retreating  feet  of  Hugh's 
horse.  He  hastily  sprang  into  the  saddle  and  giving  some  rapid 
orders,  led  the  whole  party  away  in  furious  pursuit. 

««  We  had  better  follow  them,"  said  Hugh,  as  the  sounds  died 
away  in  the  distance.     "But  Grat,  let  me  examine  an^'VyaA^'^ 
jour  arm  as  well  as  I  can,  while  we  have  UgYit.** 


184  TALBOT  AND  VERNOK. 


"  It  is  very  painful,*'  said  Allen ;  "  but  I  must  endure  it,  until 
I  find  a  better  surgeon  than  you  are,  Hugh/* 

"  But  a  little  of  even  as  rough  surgery  as  mine,**  answered 
Hugh,  **  may  save  you  an  amputation,  after  a  while.  Let  me 
rip  this  sleeve  up— there's  no  use  cutting  the  cloth,  for  good 
dragoon  jackets  are  not  as  plenty  as  prickly-pears  in  this 
country.** 

He  proceeded  to  open  the  sleeve,  smiling  at  the  remark  of 
Allen  upon  his  Yankee  economy. 

"  I  learned  that  from  my  father,**  said  he.  "  One  day,  when 
his  horse  fell  in  the  harness,  "  Old  Uriah**  insisted  upon  ripping 
the  leather  apart,  and  wouldn*t  cud  a  single  strap.** 

'*  And  in  the  meantime,**  said  Allen,  "  the  horse  did  more 
injury  by  kicking  and  struggling  than  double  the  price  of  the 
harness  would  repay.** 

**  True  enough,**  said  Hugh,  **  but  you  are  not  so  restive.** 

By  this  time,  he  had  the  coat  and  shirt  laid  open,  and  was 
gently  working  the  arm,  giving  Allen  almost  intolerable  pain. 

"  Stand  up,  now,*'  said  he,  bustlingly ;  "  this  bone  is  not 
entirely  broken  off ;  and  Doctor  Herrick  told  me  that  bones,  if 
left  to  hang  in  their  natural  positions,  will  sometimes  set  them- 
selves. A  mighty  good  surgeon  is  Doctor  Herrick,  too  ;  I  wish 
we  had  him  here.** 

**  Not  a  very  charitable  wish,  I  fear,**  said  Allen,  rising  to  his 
feet,  and  allowing  the  arm  to  hang  loosely  down.  Hugh*s 
rough  surgery  was  not  much  at  fault ;  for  the  bone  immediately 
assumed  a  position  but  little  unnatural,  and  a  slight  pressure  of 
Hugh*s  hand  brought  it,  with  a  grating  sort  of  snap,  into  its 
place. 

''  There   it   is  !**    he  exclaim.ed)  triumphantly.      **  Herrick 


TALBOT  AND  TERNON.  135 

couldn't  have  done  it  better  himself,  much  as  the  Suckers  brag 
about  him.     Don't  move  now,  till  I  tie  it  up" 

He  took  off  his  heavy  infantry  cap,  and  turning  it  inside  out, 
ripped  out  the  stiff  pasteboard  which  formed  its  sides ;  he  then 
cut  off  the  hard  leather  shade  or  front,  and  replaced  the  rem- 
nant on  his  head. 

**  I've  saved  the  bugle,  any  how,"  said  he  laughing. 

*'  But  what  are  you  going  to  do  with  that  pasteboard  and 
leather  ?" 

'*  Going  to  make  splints  of  it,"  said  he  ;  and  he  proceeded  to 
cut  it  up  into  three  pieces,  each  forming  the  segment  of  a  circle. 
He  then  cut  up  the  shade  in  the  same  way,  and  cut  several 
small  branches,  which  he  shaved  to  a  proper  thinness  with  his 
knife,  Allen  looking  wonderingly  on. 

"  Imust  hurry,"  said  he ;  "  it  is  getting  dark." 

He  now  arranged  his  materials  ;  first  drawing  the  shirt-sleeve 
smooth  and  then  carefully  arranging  the  pasteboard  around 
it.  He  next  applied  the  fragments  of  the  pasteboard  and  shade, 
and  then  the  splints  of  wood. 

"  Hold  them,  now,"  said  he,  "  while  I  tie  them." 

Untying  his  sash  he  drew  several  long  silk  cords  from  it,  and 
tied  them  securely  round  the  splints.  Then  opening  the  sash 
he  laid  it  smoothly  over  all,  wrapped  it  several  times  round  and 
tied  it. 

**  Now,"  said  he,  "  let  me  have  your  cravat."  He  untied  it 
as  he  spoke,  and  opening  it,  tied  the  opposite  corners  of  it  to^ 
gether,  and  threw  it  again  around  Allea's  neck,  thus  forming  a 
sling. 

**  I  think  that  will  do  till  we  can  get  into  camp,"  said  he, 
placing  the  artn  within  it ;  **  and  now  let  us  walk  OQ;" 


136  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 

**1  won't  need  thU/'  said  Allen,  unbuckling  his  sword-belt; 
*<  fortunately  I  can  use  my  right  arm  yet ;  so  I'll  keep  the 
blade."  He  drew  it  out  as  he  spoke,  and  Hugh  threw  the 
empty  scabbard  far  into  the  bushes. 

"  You  have  drawn  the  sword  and  thrown  the  scabbard 
away/'  said  Hugh  as  they  walked  out  into  the  road;  **  the  next 
move  should  be  forward." 

Allen's  arm  was  still  painful,  though  not  nearly  so  much  so 
as  before  ;  and  he  now  walked  with  very  tolerable  ease.  Hugh's 
plan  was  to  follow  along  the  road  just  passed  by  the  Mexicans, 
and  in  the  same  direction.  **  If  we  meet  them  coming  back 
from  their  fruitless  pursuit,"  said  he,  "  we  can  just  step  into  the 
chaparral  and  let  them  pass.  Before  they  can  come  up  with  us 
again  we  will  fall  in  with  some  of  our  pickets." 

"  How  far  do  you  suppose  it  to  be  to  Agua  Nueva  ?"  asked 
Allen. 

**  Not  more  than  twenty  miles  at  the  farthest,"  said  Hugh, 
"  and  perhaps  not  more  than  twelve.  The  Mexican  leagues 
are  six,  I  think,  between  the  two  passes;  that  may  be  ten  or 
twenty  miles,  you  know,  just  as  it  may  happen.  The  Mexicans 
have  about  as  much  idea  of  distance  as  of  the  Choctaw  lan- 
guage." 

"  How  much  is  that  ?"  asked  Allen,  laughing  in  spite  of  the 
pain. 

"  About  as  much,"  replied  Hugh,  "as  Colonel  Thorpe  has  of 
discipline ; — establishing  no  stated  length  to  one's  chain,  but 
lengthening  it  or  shortening  it,  according  to  his  fancy." 

"Is  the  Colonel  despotic,  then  ?"  asked  Allen. 

"I  don't  know  what  you  would  call  despotism,"  said  Hugh; 
"  ibz2t  if  having  one  rule  for  one  man  and  another  rule  for  an- 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  137 


other  man — punishing  one,  and  either  not  noticing  or  even 
rewarding  another  for  the  same  act — and  betraying  jealousy 
of  his  power  under  all  circumstances — ^if  this  be  despotism 
then  he  is  despotic." 

"  You  give  a  good  definition  of  military  despotism,  certainly," 
said  Allen ;  "  but  I  did  not  expect  such  a  course  from  Thorpe." 

"  You  like  him  ?"  said  Hugh,  inquiringly. 

"  Yes,  I  do ;  or  rather,  I  did ;  for  in  the  service  I  have  seen 
but  little  of  him  either  to  like  or  dislike." 

**  And  you  think  he  is  your  friend  ?"  pursued  the  lieutenant. 

"  I  know  nothing  to  the  contrary,"  said  Allen,  doubtfully ; 


"  true — " 


*  True,"  said  Hugh,  seeing  him  hesitate,  "  you  have  crossed 
him  in  his  strongest  desires ;  you  have  broken  through  and 
destroyed  his  best  laid  scheme  for  marriage  and  wealth,  and  yet 
you  are  doubtful  whether  he  is  your  friend  !  Humph  I"  And 
Hu^  strode  on  beside  him,  as  if  silenced  by  astonishment. 

"  Why,  Hugh,  how  did  you  learn  all  this  T" 

"  It  is  true,  then,  is  it  ?"  Hugh  said. 

"  I  hope  not  literally  true,  as  you  state  it,"  replied  Allen ; 
"  but  something  of  the  sort  is  true,  I  must  admit." 

"  And  yet  you  doubt  his  enmity  ?" 

"  There  is  no  reason  in  that  why  he  should  be  my  enemy." 

"  You  judge  him  by  yourself ;  to  a  generous  mind  this  would 
be  no  reason  for  hatred ;  but  to  Morris  Thorpe,  Lieutenant-Colo- 
nel, etc.,  it  is  quite  sufficient  to  produce  the  deadliest  hatred." 

**  I  do  not  judge  him  so  harshly,"  said  Allen. 

"  Because  you  do  not  know  him  so  well,"  rejoined  Hugh. 
''  My  judgment  is  based  upon  knowledge  of  the  man,  and  of 
his  intentions— yours  upon  your  charitable  view  of  men  g^iie* 
raJJj." 


138  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


«  His  intentions  ?''  repeated  Allen. 

"  Yes,  his  intentions.  I  speak  from  positive  knowledge ;  and 
if  we  ever  reach  home  I  will  exhibit  my  meaning  more  plainly." 

"  Can  you  not  explain  it  to  me  now  ?** 

*'  I  could  if  I  would  ;  but  it  is  useless,  now,  and  might  do 
harm  to  all  parties.  Besides,  we  have  something  else  to  think 
of,  now." 

"  Well,  well,"  said  Allen  indiifferently,  "  I  suppose  I  mudt 
wait ;  but  I  think  you  judge  him  severely." 

•*  Severely  means  truly — almost  always — ^now  particularly." 

They  walked  on  in  silence,  Allen  asking  no  further  questions, 
for  he  well  knew  the  self-will  of  his  friend,  and  was  aware  that 
no  urging  could  make  him  speak,  when  he  had  once  made  up 
his  mind  to  be  silent.  His  broken  limb  began  to  pain  him  more 
severely,  too,  and  the  increasing  cold  of  a  winter  night,  even  in 
that  climate,  began  to  benumb  the  arm  confined  to  the  sling. 
The  fact  was,  that  Hugh,  notwithstanding  his  boasted  skill  in 
surgery,  had  tied  the  arm  far  too  tightly,  and  this  interrupting 
the  circulation,  his  attention  bade  fair  to  do  more  harm  than 
good.  Indeed,  had  it  not  been  for  the  fortunate  accident  which 
threw  the  bones  in  their  place,  it  would  have  been  fiettal  to  the 
limb.  Tbii  consequence  was,  that  much  of  the  vital  energy  was 
expended  in  enduring  the  pain  ;  while  the  remainder  was 
scarcely  sufficient  to  enable  him  to  continue  the  march.  He 
could  feel  his  strength  gradually  decreasing,  and  began  even  to 
think  of  lying  down  beside  the  road  in  utter  helplessness.  Still 
he  did  not  complain,  though  every  step  was  an  effort  and  almost 
every  breath  was  breathed  through  his  teeth  in  agony.  They 
travelled  thus  several  miles,  until  at  last  Allen  was  about  to  lie 
down  and  send  Hugh  forward  in  an  effort  to  reach  the  camp 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  189 

He  had  opened  his  lips  to  speak,  when  Hugh  suddenly  stopped 
and  bent  almost  to  the  ground. 

**  What's  the  matter  V*  asked  Vernon. 

"  There's  a  fire  in  the  road,  or  near  it,"  said  Hugh.     «*  We* 
must  be  cautious— perhaps  it  may  be  our  friends.     You  stay 
here  a  minute,  while  I  get  a  closer  view." 

Allen  threw  himself  upon  the  ground,  and  Hugh  crept  cau- 
tiously forward,  stopping,  from  time  to  time,  to  gaze  forward 
and  listen.  He  proceeded  thus  some  two  hundred  yards,  when 
he  suddenly  came  in  view  of  a  large  fire,  built  on  the  side  of 
the  road,  and  burning  as  if  recently  supplied ;  but  not  a  soul 
was  to  be  seen  near  it — not  even  a  sentinel.  The  fire  illumi- 
nated the  chaparral  for  several  yards  around  it,  and  threw  the 
glare  of  its  light  along  the  road,  almost  to  the  spot  where  he 
stood.  He  lay  fiat  upon  the  ground,  and  attempted  thus  to 
penetrate  the  darkness ;  but,  though  he  could  see  a  long  dis- 
tance into  the  chaparral,  no  sign  was  to  be  seen  of  any  living 
thing  about  it. 

"  The  stupid  fools,"  he  muttered  to  himself;  "  I  wonder  if 
they  think  any  American  is  ass  enough  to  venture  up  into  that 
light." 

He  lay  still,  seeing  through  the  stratagem  at  once,  and  kept 
his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  illuminated  space. 

«  They  must  have  smoked  our  trick,  and  are  lying  there  to 
shoot  us  as  we  pass.  Well,  they  are  determined  to  have  light 
enough,  anyhow,  though  that  defeats  its  own  object — it  burns  too 
brightly  to  be  mistaken  for  a  long-deserted  fijre." 

As  he  lay  thus  silently  canvassing  the  stratagem,  his  ear 
caught  a  slight  noise  just  without  the  circle  of  light,  and  about 
one  hundred  yards  from  him.     Soon  afterwards  the  b\x&Yve& 


140  TALBOT  AND  VEENON. 


slowly  parted,  and  although  the  fire  was  now  burning  low,  his 
posture  enabled  him  to  see  a  dark  form  pushing  through.  He 
halted,  and  turning  his  head,  listened  attentively  for  several 
minutes,  and  then  came  forward  into  the  light.  It  was  the 
same  Mexican  who  led  the  pursuing  party.  He  stopped,  and 
listened  again,  inclining  his  ear  to  the  ground.  Apparently 
satisfied,  he  walked  quickly  towards  the  fire,  and  threw  on  it  a 
bundle  of  misquit  branches.  Having  done  so,  he  stepped 
quickly  back,  and  again  all  was  still  and  silent  as  before. 

Hugh  waited  to  see  no  more.  He  rose  quietly  and  cautiously 
to  his  feet,  and  walked  stealthily  back  to  his  companion. 
'  **  We  must  leave  the  road,"  said  he  ;  "  the  cut-throats  are 
waiting  for  us  in  the  chaparral,  and  they  will  soon  be  seek- 
ing us.  Let  us  go  back  a  short  distance,  and  then  take  off  to 
the  left." 

"  Why  not  to  the  right  ?"  said  Vernon,  as  he  rose  painfully 
from  the  ground  ;  *«  we  can  reach  the  pass  sooner  in  that  way." 

"  Because  the  hombre  I  saw  was  on  the  right,"  said  Hugh, 
"  and  they  would  certainly  not  be  on  both  sides ;  we  thus  les- 
sen the  chances  of  being  discovered." 

"  You  think  they  would  not  be  fools  enough  to  arrange  them- 
selves so  as  to  fire  into  each  other." 

"  I  hope  not,"  said  Hugh,  leading  the  way  back. 

They  walked  perhaps  a  quarter  of  a  mile  on  the  road,  and 
then  turned  off  to  the  left,  pursuing  a  course  as  nearly  perpen- 
dicular with  the  road  as  possible.  Pushing  their  way  cautiously 
among  the  chaparral,  and  occasionally  coming  in  contact  with 
the  needles  of  a  heavy  cactus,  they  walked  on  for  nearly  a  mile. 
At  the  end  of  that  distance,  they  found  themselves  rapidly 
ascending  the  plateau  which  descends  gradually  from  all  these 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  141 


ridges  to  the  plains.  The  thick  undergrowth,  however,  still 
continued  so  as  entirely  to  shut  them  from  a  view  without ; 
and  now  and  then  they  found  mingled  with  it  a  trunk  of  the  so- 
called  palm.  Hugh  tried  to  get  a  view  to  the  rear,  by  climb- 
ing a  misquit,  Allen  lying  down  again  in  excruciating  pain 
upon  the  ground. 

"  We  must  go  farther  up,"  said  he,  descending ;  and  they 
again  resumed  their  walk.  After  walking  nearly  another  mile 
their  progress  was  suddenly  stopped  by  a  deep  ravine,  which 
cat  obliquely  across  their  path ;  and  on  looking  over  the  side, 
they  found  it  strongly  illuminated,  though  from  whence  they 
could  not  discover.  At  the  same  moment  they  were  hailed  by 
a  sharp  female  voice  in  front. 

'« Quien  va  la  V*  was  called  out  in  shrill  though  musical  notes, 
and  at  the  same  moment  they  caught  a  view  of  a  female  figure 
wrapped  in  a  light  serapCt  standing  a  few  yards  before  them,  in 
an  attitude  denoting  surprise  and  fear. 


CHAPTER    III. 

**  Therein  he  them  fall  Mr  did  entertain, 
Not  with  fnch  forged  thowf,  «•  fitter  been 
For  courting  fooli,  that  conrtesiei  woold  faine, 
Bat  with  entire  alTection  and  appearance  plaine."— FAcniE  Qukkri* 

^'  Grace  waa  in  all  her  itept,  hear'n  in  her  eye, 
In  every  geftare,  dignity,  and  love." — PAn4o»c  Lost. 

"  Amioos/'  answered  Allen,  whose  Spanish  was  much  more 
ready  than  Hugh's. 

**  Americans  ?"  asked  the  woman. 

"  Siy  St%ora^'  answered  Allen,  **  but  still  friends  and  in  dis* 
tress." 

<'  Soldado$  V*  she  again  asked. 

♦*  iSi,  Sefioray'  broke  in  Hugh,  "  y  officiales.  The  Mexican 
women  all  respect  officers,"  he  continued  aside  to  Allen. 

"  I  hope  you  not  claim  officers  yourself  therefore,"  said  the 
woman,  in  English  quite  as  pure  as  was  Hugh's  Spanish. 

"  "We  do  not,  indeed,"  replied  Allen.  "  "We  were  endeavor- 
ing to  escape  from  a  party  of  cavalry  who  were  pursuing  us, 
when  my  horse  fell  with  me,  and  broke  my  arm.  They  are 
pursuing  us  yet,  and  we  are  unable  to  fight  them ;  so  you  see 
our  distress  is  real." 

As  he  spoke,  he  advanced  towards  her,  and  threw  his  sword 
at  her  feet. 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  143 


"  See !"  said  he,  "  we  throw  ourselves  upon  your  mercy." 

She  looked  at  him  timidly  by  the  light  which  now  stream- 
ed upon  him  from  below,  and  still  seemed  half  inclined  to 
fly.  She  was  reassured,  however,  and  was  almost  immedi- 
ately joined  by  another — a  venerable  looking  old  man,  v(rith 
long,  white  hair,  and  a  calm,  grave,  and  almost  melancholy 
countenance.  He  was  dressed  entirely  in  black,  wearing,  in- 
stead of  the  national  blanket,  a  loose  flowing  robe,  and  instead 
of  the  usual  sombrero^  a  cap  nearly  in  the  shape  of  a  priest's 
mitre. 

"  What  is  it,  Catharina  ?*'  he  asked,  as  he  slowly  climbed  the 
bank. 

"  All  right,''  said  Hugh  ;  "  that  voice  is  as  good  as  the  sight 
of  a  squadron  of  Harney's  dragoons." 

There  is  much,  very  much,  in  the  tones  of  a  voice  ;  almost 
as  much  as  in  the  lines  of  a  face  ;  and  this  voice  was  full  and 
strong,  though  soft,  kind,  and  musical,  with,  perhaps,  the  slight- 
est possible  touch  of  tremulousness. 

"  Two  Americans,"  said  Allen,  advancing  immediately, 
"  claim  your  hospitality.  We  are  in  distress,  and  your  face 
and  voice  deceive  me  much,  if  we  are  turned  away  without 
reUef." 

'*  Relief  is  due  to  every  fellow  being  in  distress,"  said  the  old 
man  in  English,  **  of  whatever  nation  he  may  be." 

Allen  briefly  told  the  story  of  his  accident  and  asked  for 
shelter  until  he  could  find  the  means  of  returning  to  his  friends. 

"  I  was  educated  in  the  United  States,"  said  the  old  man 
musingly,  "  and  have  been  kindly  treated  there,  when  I  needed 
kindness." 

"  Then,"  said  IcLvtgh,  **jrou  will  not  refuse  us  what  "we  uaV 


)% 


144  TALBOT  AND  VEENON. 


**  What  I  have,  you  shall  have,"  said  he.  **  I  cannot  promise 
you  very  good  entertainment ;  bat  such  as  our  retreat  affords  I 
will  cheerfully  give.     You  seem  to  be  suffering,  sir.'* 

**  I  am,  extremely,"  said  Allen  faintly.  "  I  fear  my  friend 
has  bound  my  broken  arm  too  closely." 

'*  Catharina,"  said  he,  turning  to  the  female,  who  had  stood 
looking  on  with  an  air  of  interest,  "  run  down  and  prepare  the 
couch  in  the  south  room — this  gentleman  will  need  it." 

As  she  turned  to  obey  her  father,  (for  such  he  was,)  Hugh 
who  had  been  watching  her  with  some  interest,  caught  a  side- 
view  of  as  fine  a  face  as  is  perhaps  ever  met  among  that  race. 
He  was  particularly  startled  by  seeing  that  she  had  hair  of  a 
light  auburn — a  color  as  rare  among  this  people  almost  as 
among  the  Indian  tribes.  A  high  forehead,  a  straight  nose  and 
a  small  mouth  and  chin  were  all  he  could  see ;  and  yet  even 
this  partial  view  remained  before  him  after  she  had  disappeared, 
like  the  shape  of  the  sun  when  the  eyes  are  withdrawn  from 
it.      The  old  man  stood  a  moment  gazing  down  the  mountain. 

**  That  fire,  I  presume,  marks  the  place  where  your  enemies 
are,"  said  he.  Hugh  turned  and  could  now  see  a  fire  some 
three  miles  from  them  and  apparently  far  below  the  level  upon 
which  they  stood. 

"  Yes,"  he  replied,  "  eight  men  are  waiting  there  to  murder 


us." 


The  old  man  sighed  as  he  turned  away,  as  if  mourning  over 
the  horrors  of  war.  But  hi§  attention  as  well  as  that  of  Hugh, 
was  immediately  attracted  to  Allen.  The  arm  of  the  latter  had 
become  so  painful  as  to  be  intolerable.  He  had  sunk  upon  the 
ground,  as  the  reaction  from  excitement  withdrew  his  strength, 
and  was  now  insensible. 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  I45 


"  Let  us  carry  him  down,"  said  the  old  man ;  and  taking  him 
carefully  up,  they  bore  him  down  the  rapid  descent. 

As  they  turned  a  kind  of  shoulder  in  the  rocks,  some  twenty 
feet  below  the  surface  upon  which  they  had  been  standing,  a 
singular  and  wild  scene  broke  upon  the  view.  Immediately  in 
front  of  them  stood  a  long  house,  the  perpendicular  rock  of  the 
ravine  forming  the  back  wall  from  which  the  thatched  roof 
slanted  to  the  front.  The  house  was  narrow  and  low,  almost 
entirely  covering  the  ledge  upon  which  it  was  built,  and  itself 
concealed  from  view  from  above,  by  long  and  tangled  masses  of 
moss,  and  overhanging  bushes  and  vines.  In  front  of  the  house 
was  built  a  kind  of  arbor,  so  disposed  as  completely  to  conceal 
the  walls  from  any  eye  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  ravine  ;  and 
the  vines  which  grew  upon  the  roof  were  trained  to  wind  along 
the  rough  cedar  posts  and  hang  gracefully  over  the  ledge 
among  the  long  festoons  of  silvery  moss.  The  building  itself 
was  of  stone,  roughly  hewn  and  cemented  together  with  some- 
thing which  looked  like  clay — the  sharp  corners  of  the  rocks 
standing  out  so  as  to  give  the  house  almost  'the  appearance  of  a 
mere  pile  of  stones.  It  was  scarcely  two  steps  from  the  front  wall 
to  the  edge  of  the  rock  ;  and,  falling  over  that  edge,  one  would 
have  gone  down  hundreds  of  feet  before  reaching  the  bottom. 

The  jfire  which  our  friends  had  first  seen  was  now  burning 
low ;  and  served  only  to  illuminate  the  inside  of  the  arbor  at 
the  end  of  which  it  was  built,  apd  a  few  feet  beyond.  Over 
the  abyss  of  the  ravine  brooded  the  most  impenetrable  darkness, 
and  from  this  spot  even  the  sky  looked  dim  and  far,  as  one  sees 
it  from  the  bottom  of  a  well.  The  old  man  led  the  way  into 
the  arbor  and  along  its  full  length.  At  the  other  end,  after 
passing  three  Aoors,  he  pushed  open  a  fourth  and  stepped  \ti, 


146  TALBOT  AND  VEENOX 


Catharina  stood  withia,  arranging  a  soft  couch,  over  which 
was  spread  a  coverlet  of  the  snowiest  whiteness ;  and  on  a  thin 
projecting  stone,  almost  like  a  small  mantel-piece,  stood  a  small 
silver  lamp,  the  chain  of  which  dangled  almost  to  the  floor. 
The  walls  were  hung  with  a  light  wavy  fabric  of  a  pale  pink 
color,  which  now  looked  nearly  white ;  and  the  floor  which 
was  the  natural  rock,  had  been  by  some  process  worked  almost 
I>erfectly  smooth  and  level.  The  ceiling  was  white  and  blue 
alternately,  in  strips  of  the  same  fabric  with  the  hangings,  so 
arranged  as  to  meet  upon  the  level  rafters  and  thus  conceal  the 
mode  of  fastening.  The  only  visible  furniture  in  the  room  was 
the  low  bedstead,  a  divan  set  against  the  wall,  covered  with 
cushions  of  the  prevailing  pink  hue,  and  a  large  chest,  carefully 
covered  with  an  oiled  canvas  cloth ;  in  front  of  the  divan, 
intended  for  the  feet,  was  laid  a  kind  of  mat,  formed  of  the  fibre 
of  the  maguey  plant.  Over  the  head  of  the  bed  was  hung  a 
crucifix,  and  from  a  loop  in  the  hanging  depended  a  small 
rosary  of  gold  and  ivory  beads.  Opposite  to  this  hung  a  picture 
of  the  Virgin,  painted  in  oil,  in  which  the  painter  had  caught 
the  heavenly  and  rapt  look  upward,  so  often  seen  in  Catholic 
paintings,  Upon  the  divan  lay  a  Bible,  and  from  the  end  of  the 
ribbon  which  served  as  a  marker  hung  a  small  gold  pencil,  the 
head  set  with  an  emerald  of  great  size. 

It  was  Catharina's  room  which  she  was  thus  giving  to  a 
stranger,  and  she  looked  in  all  respects  the  appropriate  mistress 
of  the  place.  She  had  thrown  off  the  light  serape  which  she 
wore  at  first,  and  now  appeared  in  a  loose,  white  dress,  slightly 
tied  at  the  waist,  and  betraying  the  undulations  of  her  form  at 
every  movement.  She  was  exceedingly  fair,  a  complexion  pro- 
b&biy  heightened  by  the  pa\e  \v\\ea  ^\>qnvX.\v^i  \  ^ti'S.^  the  light  of 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  I47 


the  lamp  fell  upon  her  face,  Hugh  thought  it  glanced  from  her 
smooth  skin,  as  from  polished  marble.  She  was  above  the  me- 
dium height,  and  her  straight  and  gracefuPcarriage  made  her 
seem  even  taller  than  she  was.  Her  hair,  as  we  have  said,  was 
light  auburn,  and  now  hung  in  rich,  waving  masses,  entirely 
unconhned,  except  by  a  narrow  band  across  her  forehead,  over 
a  neck  white  and  smooth  as  alabaster,  and  shoulders  round  and 
polished.  Her  arms  were  bare  to  the  elbow,  showing  the  clear- 
est skin  and  most  perfect  contour.  Here  eyes  were  large  and 
of  the  softest  blue;  while  around  her  full,  red  lips  played  a 
smile  of  winning  softness.  As  they  bore  Allen  in,  however, 
this  smile  gave  way  to  an  expression  of  grave  concern ;  and  as 
her  eyes  met  Hugh's  the  latter  thought  her  expression  that  of 
an  angel  come  to  comfort  him  in  distress.  Hugh  was  not  oon- 
stitutiohally  very  poetical ;  but  all  the  romance  in  his  nature 
was  now  called  forth,  tinging  his  manner,  affecting  a  voice  not 
naturally  unmusical,  and  softening  features  never  unhandsome. 

"Has  he  fainted?"  she  asked,  as  they  laid  him  on  the  bed. 

"Yes;  bring  some  water,"  said  her  father. 

She  drew  the  hangings  aside  and  revealed  a  recess  within 
where,  upon  a  smooth  stone  projecting  from  the  natural  wall, 
stood  a  silver  pitcher  and  several  goblets  of  the  same  material. 
She  filled  one  of  these  with  water  from  the  pitcher,  and  drop- 
ping the  curtain  again  the  recess  was  entirely  concealed. 

«'  Sprinkle  it  in  his  face,"  said  her  father,  "  while  I  remove 
this  jacket,"  and  he  proceeded  to  do  so,  giving  directions  to 
Hugh  now  and  then  to  assist  him. 

Catharina  sprinkled  a  few  drops  in  Allen's  face,  after  which 
she  moistened  her  fingers  in  the  goblet,  and  rubbed  them  gently 
over  his  forehead  and  temples. 


148  TALBOT  AND  VEENON. 


"  Give  him  a  few  drops  to  drink — get  some  fresh,"  said  her 
father. 

Handing  the  goblet  to  Hugh  she  got  another  and  passed  out 
at  the  door  and  around  the  corner  of  the  house.  Here  was  a 
small,  silvery  fountain  trickling  out  from  among  the  rocks,  and 
running  across  and  over  the  ledge,  reaching  the  bottom  of  the 
ravine  only  in  light  spray.  She  held  the  goblet  under  the  jet 
and  ran  back  into  the  room,  where  now  the  old  man  was  re- 
moving the  bandages  from  Allen's  arm.  She  held  the  goblet 
to  his  lips,  and  he  soon  began  to  give  signs  of  returning  anima- 
tion. 

«  He  has  not  had  any  water  since  early  this  morning/'  said 
Hugh. 

"  Early  yesterday  morning,"  said  Catharina ;  "it  is  nearly 


sunrise." 


Her  voice  was  "  soft,  gentle  and  low,  an  excellent  thing  in 
woman;"  and  the  apparent  sharpness  which  alarm  had  given 
it  was  no  longer  perceptible. 

**  I  had  forgotten,"  said  Hugh,  gazing  earnestly  at  her. 

"You  had  better  assist,"  said  she,  pointing  with  a  quiet  smile 
at  Allen.     **  My  arm  is  not  broken." 

"True,"  said  Hugh;  "I  hope  it  never  will  be — nor  your 
heart  either." 

The  cahalleras  of  Monterey  say  I  have  none  to  be  broken," 
said  she. 

"  They  are  mistaken,  I  am  sure,"  said  Hugh,  earnestly  ;  but 
the  old  man  called  him  to  the  side  of  his  friend,  and  Catharina 
passed  out  into  the  open  air. 

"These  bandages,"  said  the  old  man,  "have  been  tied  far 
too  tight — and  over-exertion  \\aa  iVitovjn^jowx  liv^w^iLvaiQ  a  fever. 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  149 


Fortunately,  my  poor  skill  is  sufficient  to  dress  the  arm  properly, 
and  I  hope  to  manage  the  fever,  too.  But  he  will  not  be  well 
enough  to  be  removed,  perhaps,  for  a  month  or  more." 

"  If  he  is  only  safe,"  said  Hugh,  "  that  will  make  no  differ- 


ence." 


"  That  I  think  he  will  be,"  said  the  other.  "  We  are  living 
here  during  the  troubles,  having  been  driven  from  Monterey  by 
the  approach  of  your  army,  and  we  see  none  except  one  female 
servant  and,  once  in  a  week,  a  man  in  my  service,  who  brings 
us  supplies  from  Saltillo." 

"  When  does  his  visit  occur?"  asked  Hugh. 

"  I  expected  him  last  night,"  said  he;  **and  his  not  coming 
was  the  cause  of  our  being  up  so  early.  The  fire  you  saw  was 
a  beacon  to  him  in  case  he  had  lost  his  way  on  the  mountain." 

"Can  he  be  trusted?" 

**  We  need  not  trust  him  at  all,"  said  the  other.  "  He  only 
stays  an  hour  or  two  and  returns  to  Agua  Nueva  for  the  night." 

"  Where  are  we,  Hugh  ?"  asked  Allen,  attempting  to  rise. 

"  You  nmst  not  rise,"  said  Hugh,  laying  his  hand  on  his 
breast.     "  We  are  among  friends  and  safe  for  the  present." 

"  I  remember  now,"  said  Allen,  sinking  back. 

"  You  must  try  to  sleep,"  said  the  old  man.  "  Let  us  re- 
move his  clothes,  sir,  and  then  leave  him ;  nothing  will  do  him 
so  much  good  as  sleep." 

Allen  submitted  quietly ;  and  almost  before  they  had  undress- 
ed him,  he  was  in  a  deep,  torpid  sleep.  Hugh  and  the  old 
man  passed  out  and  the  latter  drew  the  heavy  door  gently  shut. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

*-  For  she  was  full  of  amiable  grace.^' — Sfeivser. 
^  And  Joy  to  breathe  the  gToret,  romantic  and  alone."— Campbsuu. 

As  Hugh  stepped  out  upon  the  rock  below  the  house,  he 
found  that  the  sun  was  already  up,  though  his  beams  could  not 
reach  the  spot  where  he  stood  for  several  hours.  Directly  in 
'  front  of  him  rose  the  high  mountain  range,  which  had  been  on 
his  left  throughout  the  previous  day's  ride ;  and  at  his  feet 
yawned  an  almost  bottomless  chasm,  which  the  rains  and  melt- 
ing snows  of  long  ages  had  washed  deep  down  into  the  rocky 
sierra.  Towards  the  left,  or  down  the  ravine,  the  chasm  opened 
wider  ;  and  far  in  the  distance,  spreading  almost  endlessly,  his 
eye  ranged  over  the  sterile  plain,  across  which  the  morning  sun 
was  shining  in  yellow  radiance.  To  the  right,  the  ravine  rose 
rapidly  into  the  ridge,  and  seemed  to  reach  almost  to  the  sum- 
mit; while,  far  down  in  its  fathomless  bed,  ran  a  narrow, 
thread-like  stream,  dried  up  long  before  it  reaclfed  the  plain. 
Above  the  head  of  the  ravine,  upon  the  very  crest  of  the 
mountain,  were  long  ranges  or  thin  groves  of  tall  pines  and 
cedars,  now  illumined  on  their  evergreen  leaves  and  branches 
by  the  risen  sun.  The  silence  was  deep  and  unbroken,  save  by 
the  tinkling  sound  of  the  small  fountain,  which  came  out  im- 
mediately behind  him ;  and  the  only  visible  motion  in  all  that 


TALBOT.  AND  VERNON.  151 


solitude,  was  this  thread-like  rill,  as  it  sprang  over  the  ledge, 
and  was  dissipated  in  fine  mist,  which  the  light  morning  air  ' 
wafted  into  his  face. 

As  he  stood  gazing  upon  this  peaceful  scene,  his  attention 
was  attracted  by  a  light  footstep,  and  Catharina  stood  beside 
him. 

"  You  admire  the  view  ?"  said  she. 

"  It  is  a  perfect  vision,*'  he  replied,  "  which  is,  however,  only 
complete  when  the  solitude  is  broken  by  you." 

"  You  are  as  complimentary  as  a  cavallero,'''  said  ,she,  laugh- 
ing ;  "  T  scarcely  expected  that  from  an  American." 

"  And  why  not  ?"  Hugh  asked.  Is  it  because  they  are  less 
gallant,  or  more  honest,  than  the  cavalleros  ?" 

"  O I  more  honest,  I  would  hope  I"  she  exclaimed.  "  But 
surely  gallantry  is  not  incompatible  with  honesty." 

"  No,"  said  Hugh,  "  not  precisely ;  but  I  believe  they  are 


seldom  found  together. 


ty 


"  It  is  BO  in  your  country,  too,  then  ?"  said  she.  "  I  had 
hoped  it  was  not  so." 

"  It  is  indeed  so,  seiiora,"  answered  Hugh.  "  But  you  speak 
as  if  you  had  often  thought  of  my  country." 

"  My  father  has  told  me  much  of  it,"  she  replied,  "  and  I 
have  read  more.     But  you  have  not  told  me  your  name." 

"  Manning,"  said  he ;  **  Hugh  Manning.  I  think  you  will 
find  it  difiicult  to  pronounce." 

"  O,  no  I"  said  she,  but  the  attempt  justified  the  fear  of  Hugh ; 
for  nothing  could  have  been  '  more  incorrect  than  her  proniS- 
ciation,  as  nothing  could  have  been  more  charming  to  Hugh 
than  her  earnest  attempt.  There  is  nothing  harsh  in  the  accent 
of  a  Spaniard  when  speaking  EDglish — nothing  even  \\id\ciXO>a&, 


15JJ         _        \      TAtBOT  AND  VERNOIf. 


4s  there  generally  is  in  the  unsnccessfal  attempts  of  foreigners 
*to  master  our  eccentric  accent.  There  seems  to  be  no  affinity 
between  the  two  languages,  and  yet  the  Spanish  seems  only  to  • 
prepare  the  tongue  to  give  a  lisping  softness  to  the  English.  A 
soft  voice,  and  a  pretty  face,  bearing  the  earnest,  naive  expres- 
sion which  a  Spanish  girl  always  assumes  when  trying  to  arti- 
culate our  rough  sounds,  are  concomitants  which  add  greatly 
to  the  interest  of  such  a  conversation.    Bjrron  says 

*'  *Tu  pleasing  to  be  icbooled  in  a  strange  tongue^ 
By  female  lips  and  eyes  ;" 

and  not  less  pleasing  is  it  to  be  the  teacher.  Hugh  was  not 
exactly  in  this  position  ;  but  he  smiled  when  she  made  a  blun- 
der, which  was  not  seldom,  and  thought  how  pleasant  it  would 
be  to  remain  here  a  month  or  two,  and  teach  those  rosy  lips  a 
better  English.  For  we  have  not  given  the  words  of  Catharina 
as  she  spoke  them,  much  less  could  we  interpret  on  this  cold 
paper,  the  artless  earnestness  and  smiling  patience  with  which 
she  endeavored  to  make  herself  understood.  She  compre- 
hended the  language  when  spoken  by  another,  as  Hugh  under- 
stood Spanish.  Neither  was  capable  of  speaking  the  language 
of  the  other ;  but  each  persisted  in  speaking  only  the  foreign 
tongue,  and  each  thought  it  very  pleasant  thus  to  correct  the 
other's  blunders,  and  smile  at  ludicrous  mistakes. 

^^  They  smile  so  when  one's  right,  and  when  one's  wrong 
They  smile  still  more,  and  then  there  intervene 
Pressure  of  hands,  perhaps  even  a  chaste  kiss." 

But  in  this  instance  there  were  none  of  the  latter  as  yet,  what- 
ever the  intimacy  which  grew  so  fast  might  lead  to  if  pursued. 
Tbey  talked  of  the  view  beioie  tViem — ol  \\v^  Tcvovyssl^lns^  and 


TALBOT  AN©  VERNON.  V'    .^' . ,  1^3 


the  cedars,  and  the  solitude.  They  talked  of  the  war^— of  bat- 
ties,  ^d  seiges,  and  bloody  deeds ;  and  then,  by  contrast,  were 
suggested  scenes  of  peaceful  quiet  like  this,  where  not  a  sound 
of  war  had  ever  come.  Catharina  told  him  her  history,  and 
explained  the  reasons  why  they  were  living  thus  far  from  the 
haunts  of  men,  in  a  scene  so  wild.  Her  father  had  been  a 
priest,  she  said,  having  been  educated  in  the  United  States  by 
the  Jesuits.  But  time  had  opened  his  eyes  to  the  folly  of  the 
vows  he  had  taken,  and  gradually  undermined  his  faith.  He 
was  even  thinking  of  flying  from  his  duties,  and  betaking  him- 
self to  solitude,  when  the  Jesuits  had  been  by  law  expelled 
from  the  country.  This  gave  him  an  excuse  for  a  step  which 
he  had  been  on  the  point  of  taking  without  excuse.  He  affect- 
ed to  prefer  his  country  to  his  order,  and  had  accordingly  been 
excommunicated.  He  had  gladly  seized  that  opportunity  to 
rid  himself  of  trammels  which  galled  him ;  and  immediately 
upon  becoming  free  from  his  vows,  he  hastened  to  the  United 
States,  and  married  a  lady  whom  he  had  loved  in  silence  while 
his  vows  forbade  him  to  speak,  and  the  affection  for  whom  pro- 
bably had  no  small  weight  in  forming  his  conclusion.  He 
brought  his  bride  to  Monterey,  where  he  had  a  large  property, 
which  the  Law  of  the  Expulsion  revested  in  him,  and  lived 
happily  for  a  year.  At  the  end  of  that  time  Catharina  was 
born  and  her  mother  died,  almost  at  the  moment  of  her  seeing 
the  light. 

Of  all  these  events  she  spoke  but  briefly,  for  she  really  un- 
derstood but  little  of  them  ;  but  into  her  own  personal  history 
she  w^ent  more  at  large  than  we  shall  do,  and  far  more  than 
was  to  have  been  expected  after  an  acquaintance  of  but  ^  few 

hours.     Her  father  had  lived  at  Monterey,  she  contmued^  ItotCL 

7# 


154  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


that  time  to  the  present,  suspected  and  shunned  by  the  more 
fanatical  of  the  Catholics,  but  deeply  respected  by  all  who 
knew  him  intimately.  He  seemed  to  take  a  pride,  too,  in  keep- 
ing in  remembrance  the  reason  for  which  he  was  suspected,  by 
habitually  wearing  a  costume  very  nearly  like  that  which  he 
had  formerly  worn  as  a  priest.  This  was  in  part  habit,  which 
had  made  this  costume  most  comfortable  to  him,  and  in  part  con- 
tempt and  scorn  of  those  who  carped  at  him.  His  proud,  shy 
character,  had  been  heightened  by  his  grief,  and  seclusion  was 
the  natural  consequence  of  his  position.  His  daughter  had 
grown  up  beautiful  and  stately  as  a  palm  tree,  reproducing  be- 
fore him  the  soft,  northern  loveliness  of  his  dead  wife,  added  to 
the  proud  bearing  of  the  southern.  She  was  an  heiress,  more- 
over, and  Mexico  is  even  a  stronger  example  than  our  own 
country  of  the  influence  of  wealth.  Had  her  father  practised 
"  the  Black  Art,"  which  many  in  that  country  do  not  think 
exploded,  his  daughter,  or  rather  his  daughter's  wealth,  would 
have  been  sought  by  many  suitors.  None  of  these,  she  said 
archly,  had  touched  her  heart,  because  she  knew  they  cared 
less  for  her  than  for  her  haciendas  ;  and  she  preferred  the  free- 
dom of  a  maiden  to  the  license  of  a  wife. 

Time  had  rolled  on,  and  the  war  with  the  United  States 
commenced.  General  Taylor  had  marched  on  Monterey,  and 
was  about  to  assault  it,  when  her  father  was  surprised  to  find 
his  name — Andrew  Bonaro — among  those  who  were  suspected 
of  being  friendly  to  the  advancing  Americans.  "  More  in  sor- 
row than  in  anger,*'  he  had  at  once  left  the  city  for  one  of  his 
haciendas.  But  he  was  a  marked  man ;  and  but  a  few  days 
passed  in  this  retreat,  before  a  detachment  of  roving  soldiers, 
who  were  at  least  half  tobbeis,  looY  '^poefe^^bvotv.  ^1  nXsa  iglace, 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  155 

and  he  was  forced  to  leave  it.  He  now  bethought  him  of  this 
solitary  place,  which  he  had  built  during  the  first  year  of  his 
widowhood,  and  where  he  had  once  proposed  to  spend  the  re- 
mainder of  his  days,  and  leaving  his  property  and  possessions 
in  the  hands  of  the  Americans,  he  had  repaired  hither  resolved 
not  to  appear  again  in  the  world,  until  the  storm  of  war  should 
have  passed. 

Catharina  told  this  history,  not  as  we  have  written  it,  but  in 
detached  portions  elicited  by  repeated  questioning  from  Hugh, 
during  a  walk  of  more  than  an  hour  up  and  down  the  narrow 
terrace. 

"  Then  your  name  is  Catharina  Bonaro  ?'*  said  he,  as  she 
finished. 

"  Yes,"  said  she.  "  But  I  have  kept  you  too  long  here — ^you 
must  need  repose,  and  I  must  go  and  make  you  a  cup  of  coffee." 

"  Let  me  help  you,"  said  Hugh  ;  "  I  am  not  fatigued  in  the 
least." 

"  No,  no,"  said  she  laughing ;  "  I  know  you  must  be  fatigued ; 
and,  besides,  you  could  not  help  me  if  you  were  not.  You 
would  only  hinder  me  ;  it  has  been  so  long  since  I  have  seen  a 
young  cavallerot  to  talk  to,  that  I  should  forget  the  coffee 
altogether." 

"  So  much  the  better,"  said  Hugh,  "  then  we  could  talk  all 
the  time." 

"  You  must  remember,"  said  she  with  mock  gravity,  "  that 
you  are  my  guest,  and  as  such  must  obey  all  my  commands ;  of 
which  my  first  is  that  you  lie  down  while  I  bring  your  coffee  to 
you,  and  then  give  yourself  up  to  repose  for  the  day.  Come,  I 
will  show  you." 

"  I  wish  b])  who  command  me  were  as  easy  tx>  cibey^^^  ^\^ 


166  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


She  looked  wonderingly  at  him,  but  did  not  reply. 
•*  I  mean,"  he  continued,  "  that  I  will  obey  you  more  cheer- 
fully than  any  superior  officer,  who  has  a  right  to  command 


me. 


"  Your  army  is  in  but  a  dangerous  position,"  said  she,  "  if 
your  soldiers  do  not  obey  their  officers  more  cheerfully  than  you 
do  me.     Come." 

She  led  him  back  along  the  terrace,  and  past  the  door  within 
which  Allen  was  still  sleeping  heavily  ;  and  pushing  open  the 
next  she  told  him  to  enter.  The  room  was  of  the  same  size  of 
the  other,  but  less  elegantly  fitted  up,  though  still  neatly  and 
even  richly  furnished,  considering  the  appearance  of  the  walls 
and  the  scene  outside.  A  neat  white  couch,  very  nearly  like 
that  in  the  other  room,  stood  in  the  corner,  and  a  divan  covered 
with  dark,  crimson  silk  stood  against  the  wall.  Hugh  did  not 
wait  to  see  more,  for  Catharina  pulled  the  door  shut  and  left 
him  in  the  dark.  He  heard  her  go  away  singing  in  a  clear 
melodious  voice,  one  of  the  simple  though  monotonous  airs  of 
the  country.  He  threw  himself  upon  the  couch  and  disposed 
himself  to  sleep.  A  moment  afterwards,  however,  Catharina 
entered  and  leaving  the  door  open  brought  him  a  smoking  cup 
of  coffee. 

"  Drink  this,"  said  she.  *<  Father  says  you  must  sleep  before 
you  eat." 

He  took  the  cup  and  drank  the  coffee  with  a  relish  he  had 
never  before  known. 

*'  Now,"  said  she,  taking  the  cup,  "  lie  down  and  sleep  till  I 
call  you." 


CHAPTER   V. 


-"  weariness 


Can  snore  upon  the  flint,  when  restive  sloth 
Finds  the  down  pillow  hard." — Cvmbeliitk. 

"  The  whispering  air 
Sends  inspiration  from  the  mountain  heights.'' — Woodswoeth. 

"  There  is  a  wakening  on  the  mighty  hills, 
A  kindling  with  the  spirit  of  the  mom."— Hcuans. 

"  But  look  !  the  mom,  in  russet  mantle  clad, 
Walks  o'er  the  dew  of  yon  high  eastern  hill." — Hamlet. 

"  Silence  I  coeval  with  eternity  !'' — Popjb. 

However  much  inclined  Hugh  was  to  prefer  Catharina's 
society  to  the  arms  of  Morpheus,  when  he  once  yielded  to  the 
influence  of  the  drowsy  god,  his  sleep  became  deep  and  dream- 
less. 

Whatever  may  be  said  about  the  hardships  of  a  soldier's  life, 
and  the  inestimable  blessings  of  a  peaceful  lot,  it  may  well  be 
doubted,  whether  the  aggregate  of  his  enjoyments  be  not  equal 
in  amount  to  the  happiness  of  a  calmer  existence.  The  watch- 
fulness and  violent  exertion  of  his  waking  hours  enhance  his 
enjoyment  of  repose,  when  it  comes ;  and  many  a  soldier  lies 
down  upon  a  naked  rock  with  a  keener  relish  than  he  who 
presses  a  bed  of  down.  Grod  has  created  us  all,  and  stands 
equally  in  that  relation  to  all ;  whatever  obligations  it  has  been 
His  will  to  impose  upon  Himself  by  this  act  of  creation,  be  they 
great  or  smalJ^  are  due  to  us,  at  least  in  this  woild,  m  bh  ^c^^ 


158  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


degree.  He  has,  therefore,  established  a  law  ;  by  which  every 
blessing  and  every  evil  shall  be  so  graduated  and  proportioned, 
in  itself  and  in  its  consequences,  that  each  will  receive  an  equal 
amount  of  worldly  enjoyment ;  and,  being  both  omniscient  and 
omnipresent,  he  has  been  able  so  to  form  us,  that  as  much 
happiness  to  the  poor  and  apparently  unfortunate,  may  be  com- 
pressed into  a  day,  or  even  a  moment,  as  with  his  richer  or 
apparently  more  fortunate  neighbor  is  spread  over  a  whole  life- 
time. He  has  been  able  so  to  make  us,  too,  that  an  emotion, 
an  aspiration,  even  a  thought,  shall  repay  to  the  unblest,  his 
want  of  a  thousand  mere  physical  comforts.  Good  and  evil, 
enjoyment  and  discomfort,  are  like  the  two  buckets  in  a  well ;  as 
the  one  goes  down  the  other  rises,  and  the  rise  of  one  is  always 
in  exact  proportion  to  the  fall  of  the  other.  If  my  enjoyments 
are  "  few  and  far  between,"  I  appreciate  them  the  more  keenly, 
and  my  appreciation  is  in  exact  ratio  to  their  rareness — the 
sense  of  happiness  may  be  so  sublimated  as  to  concentrate  the 
feelings  of  years  in  one  single  moment.  If,  on  the  contrary,  I 
am  blest  with  many  blessings,  insomuch  that  each  day  only  rises 
to  bring  its  daily  enjoyment,  the  frequency  blunts  the  keenness 
of  my  feelings,  and  habit  dilutes  over  many  days  the  fruition 
which,  in  the  other  case,  occupied  but  a  single  moment.  Re- 
currence weakens  and  dilutes — rarity  sublimes  and  concentrates. 
It  is  so  in  the  life  of  the  soldier,  as  in  all  other  things.  The  bat- 
tle, in  which  death  and  terror  and  excitement  string  the  nerves 
and  exalt  the  imagination,  renders  doubly  sweet  the  peaceful- 
ness  of  the  following  day ;  the  weary  march  of  mile  upon  mile 
and  league  upon  league,  makes  the  heart  swell  with  delight  as 
he  throws  himself  upon  his  hard  pillow  and  sleeps  to  dream  of 
home  and  friends.     I  know  oi  no  p\e«A\a^*\xL\Si%  «cvyv«.l  to  that 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  159 


the  foot-sore  soldier  feels  when,  after  a  long,  hot,  monotonous 
day's  march,  he  first  comes  in  sight  of  the  fluttering  guidons 
which  mark  his  encampment  for  the  night ;  and  even  the 
thought  that  on  the  following  morning  he  will  again  set  out 
upon  a  march  equally  severe,  only  admonishes  him  to  enjoy  his 
present  repose — makes  it  far  sweeter  than  any  gained  beneath 
a  roof.  There  is  no  tossing  uneasily  from  side  to  side,  upon 
that  couch — no  weary  wakefulness,  which  makes  the  night  an 
age  and  the  stillness  a  mockery.  No  restless  longing  for  morn- 
ing disturbs  the  soldier's  sleep  ;  and  the  reveUU  which  calls  him 
from  his  slumber,  though  it  calls  him  also  to  renewed  exertion, 
only  reminds  him  that  it  calls  him  from  an  enjoyment  which 
shall  come  again — which  will  come  again,  too,  not  as  a  mere 
habit  which  chains  him  to  a  torturing  routine  of  lying  down 
sleepless  and  rising  up  listless,  but  as  a  positive  pleasure,  height- 
ened and  enhanced  by  the  labors  of  which  this  reveill4  is  the 
herald.  And  even  when  his  duties  require  him  to  watch 
through  the  long  hours  of  the  night,  with  a  slumbering  host 
about  him,  he  looks  forward  to  the  hour  of  relief ;  and  when  it 
comes,  he  hies  away  to  his  comrades  with  the  bounding  con- 
sciousness of  a  duty  performed  and  past.  It  has  been  observed 
— we  have  ourselves  observed — that  the  soldier  who  has  not 
closed  his  eyes  during  the  night  before,  will  perform  a  long  and 
weary  march  with  as  much  speed  and  alacrity,  and  with  as  lit- 
tle fatigue  as  he  who  has  slept  the  usual  number  of  hours ;  and 
this  is  true  of  whole  regiments,  too,  observed  in  succession. 
The  explanation  is  to  be  sought,  no  doubt,  partially  in  habit ; 
but  much  more  credit  is  due  to  the  moral  influence  exercised  by 
the  bounding  feeling  of  being  relieved,  and  the  consciousness 
that  when  he  reaches  hw  quarters  for  the  night,  aleimol  sw^^X. 
repose  awaits  him. 


n 


160  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


Hugh  and  Allen  had  been  awake  for  many  hours,  during 
which  they  had  passed  through  excitement,-fatigue,  and  dan- 
ger. They  were  now  safe,  at  least  for  the  present ;  and  Hugh 
threw  himself  upon  the  couch  prepared  for  him,  with  a  keen- 
ness  of  enjoyment  only  known  to  the  tired  sons  of  toil,  or  the 
travel- worn  wayfarer.  The  sleep  of  his  friend  was  not  so  deep ; 
but  he  was  not  well.  The  fever  of  his  veins  troubled  his 
dreams ;  but  he,  too,  slept  deeply,  though  somewhat  torpidly. 
Let  us  fill  up  the  time  of  their  unconsciousness  with  some  brief 
account  of  the  time  during  which  we  lost  sight  of  them. 

Hugh  had  marched  with  his  company  to  the  place  of  rendez- 
vous when  the  companies  were  formed  into  regiments  and 
organized  by  the  election  of  field  officers.  There  MoTris 
Thorpe  had  endeavored  to  secure  a  colonelcy  ;  had,  indeed,  so 
nearly  succeeded,  that  his  opponent,  (a  man  of  age,  experience, 
and  long  service,)  had  found  it  necessary  to  compromise  with 
him.  By  this  arrangement,  Thorpe  secured  the  position  which 
he  had  originally  in  view — the  lieutenant-colonelcy.  He  well 
knew  that  he  was  not  old  enough,  or  sufficiently  well  known, 
to  hope  for  the  first  office,  and  the  success  of  his  intriguing  sur- 
prised himself  as  much  as  it  did  others.  The  second  office, 
moreover,  pleased  him  far  more  than  the  first,  in  itself ;  and  it 
was  only  in  order  to  secure  it,  that  he  pushed  his  pretensions 
forward  for  the  colonelcy.  There  are  just  two  offices  in  an  army 
which  are  desirable — the  second  office  in  a  regiment,  and  the 
second  office  in  a  company.  They  combine,  each  in  its  sphere, 
good  rank  and  absence  of  responsibility.  If  any  officer  in  a 
volunteer  corps  has  an  opportunity  to  ingratiate  himself  with 
his  men,  and  thus  prepare  for  a  peace-campaign,  (the  object  for 
which  many  of  them  en\ist,)  it  *\a  \i^  vj\\o  ^\\a  either  of  these 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  161 


posts.  He  can  pursue  his  schemes  of  popularity,  and  yet 
strictly  do  his  duty — a  course  very  hard  to  pursue  ;  for  there  is 
an  officer  above  him  who  bears  all  the  odrura  of  discipline,  and 
whose  popular  acts  are  generally  referred  to  the  counsels  of  his 
second  in  command.  Thorpe  knew  this,  and  he  arranged  his 
plans  accordingly — succeeding,  as  he  generally  did. 

Hugh  had  entered  the  army  inexperienced,  young,  and  accus- 
tomed only  to  the  routine  of  civil  life.  His  education  was, 
however,  as  we  have  said,  far  more  liberal  than  that  generally 
received  by  young  men  in  his  station,  and  his  natural  powers 
were  very  much  above  mediocrity.  He  was  particularly  dis- 
tinguished for  quick  observation,  and  a  certain  good  sense, 
which  made  his  applications  soiitid  and  practical.  He  was,  at 
first,  of  course,  entirely  unused  to  his  new  life.  But  of  all 
animals,  man  most  easily  adapts  himself  to  new  situations ;  and 
it  was  not  more  than  three  months  from  the  day  of  his  enlist- 
ment, before  he  had  become  perfectly  au  fait  in  his  new  har- 
ness, and  had  rubbed  off  a  great  part  of  the  external  roughness 
and  inexperience  accumulated  in  an  obscure  position.  His 
mind,  too,  partook  of  the  change  ;  and  what  had  been  only  a 
strong,  practical  intellect,  obscured  by  routine  and  want  of  op- 
portunity, now  became  a  firm,  sound,  and  rapid  intelligence, 
full  of  observation  and  expedient.  The  life  of  a  soldier,  what- 
ever may  be  its  tendencies  in  a  moral  point  of  view,  contributes 
powerfully  to  evolve  all  there  is  in  a  man's  intellect.  A  camp 
is  a  hotbed  in  which  mind,  as  well  as  vice,  is  forced  into  matu- 
rity with  a  rapidity  wholly  unknown  to  the  influences  of  civil 
life.  "  In  vino,  Veritas"  is  an  old  adage,  probably  true  not- 
withstanding the  fact  that  when  intoxicated  men  ate  getvex^W^ 
said  to  be  '' disguised ;'*  and  with  a  small  variation,  l\\e  liv\\%v\v 


162  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


might  be  applied  to  a  camp ;  for  there,  whatever  is  in  a  man 
will. come  out.  Men  who  have  been  supposed,  while  in  civil 
stations,  to  be  among  the  best  disposed  and  most  estimable, 
upon  a  short  trial  titere,  have  been  found  to  be  the  most  utterly 
worthless — mere  drones,  who  add  nothing  to  the  efficiency  of  an 
army,  but  really  detract  from  its  force,  by  depreciating  its 
moral  tone.  And  the  converse  is  also  true.  Men  taken  from 
the  gutters  and  grog  shops,  unpromising  materials,  one  would 
have  said  for  any  purpose — men  apparently  abandoned  to  every 
vice,  and  too  far  sunk  in  laziness  and  corruption  ever  to  be 
otherwise  reformed,  have,  under  the  transforming  rod  of  mili- 
tary discipline,  become  sober,  orderly,  well-disposed,  and  effi- 
cient men.  I  speak  not  of  isokted  instances,  but  of  large  num- 
bers of  both  classes — numbers  large  enough  to  form  a  rule,  not 
to  be  classed  among  exceptions. 

The  regiments  and  corps  which  were  beyond  Saltillo,  at  the 
period  of  our  story,  are  so  well  known,  that  we  cannot  ven- 
ture to  follow  the  lieutenant  closely  in  his  progress  there,  lest 
some  think  we  are  pointing  to  their  acquaintances.  Suffice  it 
that  he  was  there  with  his  regiment,  having  got  there  by  land 
and  water ;  that  his  adventures  had  been  few,  but  his  experi- 
ence great ;  and  that  he  is  now  sleeping  in  the  mountain  ranche, 
where  it  is  our  purpose  to  return,  as  soon  as  we  shall  have 
brought  another  character  in  this  veritable  history  to  the  same 
point  of  time. 

Allen  had  gone  to  New  Orleans  with  Major  Bryce,  as  we 

have  already  seen.     There  the  latter  had  received  the  "  further 

orders,"  for  which  he  was  instructed  to  wait ;  ^nd  those  orders 

bad  directed  him  to  repair  to  the  Rio  Grande,  to  be  assigned  to 

duty.     In  due  time  he  atiived  tVieie,  ^ti^  ^^^  ^"ssv^^^d  to  duty 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  163 


with  a  column  then  moving  upon  Camargo.  Allen  had  accom- 
panied him  as  his  clerk,  occupying  the  greater  part  of  his  time, 
however,  in  sketching  the  scenery,  and  studying  the  character 
of  the  country  through  which  they  passed.  In  Camargo,  the 
Major  had  been  employed  among  the  dilapidated  wagons  and 
broken  down  horses  and  mules,  which  lumbered  the  town, 
while  Taylor  marched  on  towards  Monterey.  After  the  city 
was  taken,  the  Major,  with  the  volunteers,  was  ordered  up. 
Thence  he  moved  up  with  the  command  of  General  Worth ; 
and  when  the  larger  part  of  Taylor's  army  was  withdrawn  by 
General  Scott  for  his  expedition  against  Vera  Cruz,  the  Major 
had  been  ordered  off  with  them.  His  accounts  were,  however, 
to  be  settled  before  he  left,  and  he  was  still  in  Saltillo  at  the 
period  of  Allen's  expedition  with  the  reconnoitering  party. 
The  time  set  for  Allen's  return  came,  aud  the  Major  was  com- 
pelled to  set  off  without  him.  We  have  seen  the  reasons  of  his 
delay  ;  and  now  let  us  return  again  to  Bonaro's  cottage. 

The  silence  of  the  scene  resembled  the  sacred  stillness  of  a 
Sabbath  morning  in  the  country — a  stillness  now  made  audible 
by  the  low  sighing  of  a  whispering  southern  breeze,  which 
crept  along  the  plain  and  stealthily  ascended  the  mountain  side. 
It  was  light,  as  the  summer  breezes  of  the  North,  scarcely 
moving  a  leaf,  and  only  perceptible  by  its  weird  rustling  among 
the  branches,  and  its  almost  inaudible  murmuring  far  down  in 
the  recesses  of  the  deep  ravine.  There  were  none  of  the 
sounds  which  in  a  northern  climate  come  to  disturb  the  en- 
chantment of  a  still  day.  Among  the  few  low  trees,  there 
were  no  birds  to  carol  forth  their  joy — from  the  thick  copse 
came  no  cheerful  songs  to  greet  the  sunlight.  Neilhei  IhA 
bleating  of  sheep,  nor  the  lowing  of  herdp,  reminded  ox»  ol 


164  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


country  life.     Far  up  the  mountain  slope  could  here  and  there 
be  seen  a  wandering  goat,  browsing  upon  the  low  bushes,  or 
springing  now  and  then  from  rock  to  rock  ;  and  farther  on, 
lying  like  a  collection  of  snow-flakes  upon  the  brown  grass,  and 
shining  in  the  sun  which  had  reached  them,  though  it  pene- 
trated not  the  valley  and  the  plain,  could  be  discerned  a  flock 
of   these   animals,   walking    listlessly   about,   or    standing  in 
groups  in  the  calmness  of  the  morning ;  but  in  that  wide  pros- 
pect, no  other  sign  of  life  was  visible.     On  the  plain  the  morn- 
ing stillness  was  no  less  deep ;  the  sun  had  not  yet  come  to 
obscure  the  view,  and  the  eye  ranged  over  an  almost  intermin- 
able level,  where  nothing  broke  the  monotony  but  an  occasional 
stunted  misquit  or  desolate-looking  cactus.     Towards  the  east, 
as  towards   the  west,  the  ridge  of  mountains  towered  many 
thousand  feet,  rugged  in  the  granite  hues  of  ages,  and  crowned 
by  tall   pines  and   ghost-like  cedars ;    and  between  the  dark 
trunks  of  these,  relieved  in  sharp,  decided  outline  against  the 
sky,  shone  the  bright  sunlight,  bringing  out  in  full  the  crooked 
branches  and  waving  foliage  which  it  tipped  with  golden  fire. 
Over  all,  like  an  intangible,  deep  blue  canopy,  was  arched  the 
glorious  sky  of  that  pure  atmosphere,  penetrated  and  pervaded 
by  the  morning  light,  bending  towards  the  opposing  ridges  in 
ever-changing  hues  ;  now  bands  of  pale  orange,  springing  like 
the  rainbow  from  ridge  to  ridge ;  now  beams  of  fading  green, 
shooting  far  up  into  the  fathomless  firmament ;  now  gold,  and 
purplfr,  and  white,  playing  round  the  craggy  summits,  and  now 
a  shimmering  flash  of  all  combined,  running  along  the  rocks, 
and  breaking  on  the  trees  like  showers  of  diamonds  shivered 
into  dust ;  and  then  again,  one  calm,  unbroken  surface  of  the 
same  heavenly  blue. 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  165 


Bonaro  sat  upon  a  rustic  bench  before  the  door,  within  which 
Allen  slept ;  and  his  long,  silvery  locks  uncovered,  and  slightly 
moved  from  time  to  time  by  the  gentle  morning  air,  streamed 
down  about  his  temples  and  upoii  his  cheek,  presenting  the  pic- 
ture of  a  patriarch,  upon  whose  life  no  shadow  has  been  cast, 
except  that  which  every  thoughtful  spirit  wears  in  view  of  the 
sins  and  miseries  of  his  fellow  men.  He  was  reading  a  large 
silver-clasped  book ;  but  from  time  to  time  he  laid  it  down, 
and  entering  the  house,  carefully  examined  the  pulse  of  his 
patient.  Catharina  passed  several  times  in  and  out  of  the 
house,  singing  softly  in  unison  with  the  tinkling  of  the  fountain 
at  the  end  of  the  house,  apparently  intent  upon  assisting  the 
old  female  servant,  Marola,  in  the  preparation  of  the  few  viands 
the  house  afforded.  The  woman  confined  herself  to  the  house, 
not  for  fear  of  being  seen,  although  her  dress  was  scanty 
enough,  nor  because  she  wanted  nothing  from  without,  for 
Catharina  carried  in  to  her  the  twigs  used  for  fuel  and  an  occa- 
sional vessel  of  water;  but  apparently  from  a  love  of  the 
smoke  which  filled  the  room,  and  which  had  wrinkled  and 
darkened  her  already  patchment-like  skin,  until  it  seemed  to  be 
incapable  of  further  change.  Her  face  was,  however,  redeem- 
ed by  the  invariable  small,  black,  twinkling  eye  of  the  race, 
and  by  long,  straight,  raven  hair  which  fell  loosely  ujwn  her 
scantily-covered  shoulders,  without  the  least  confinement.  A 
chemise  of  white  cotton  stuff,  confined  at  the  waist,  and  eked 
out  by  a  red  fiannel  petticoat  of  no  extravagant  longitude,  and 
old,  dilapidated,  slipshod  rough  shoes,  completed  a  costume 
which  was  never  changed.  Her  head,  when  she  went  into  the 
son,  was  covered  by  a  coarse,  brown  mantilla,  which  also  served 
to  envelope  her  bare  arms  and  shoulders.     She  w^s,  m  B\iOtt.^  ^ 


166  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


fair  specimen  of  the  class  of  Mexican  peotu^  who  are  not  only 
not  superior  in  condition  or  character,  but  are,  in  many  respects, 
positively  inferior  to  the  slaves  of  the  southern  States.  She 
seemed  to  notice  nothing  that  went  on  around  her,  except  by 
an  occasional  furtive  glance  of  her  quick,  black  eye  ;  and  even 
the  approach  of  our  friends,  and  their  reception,  had  called  forth 
no  other  sign  from  her  pinched  and  wrinkled  features. 

An  hour  passed  away  thus  quietly,  when  Catharina  called 
her  father  in  to  their  morning  meal.  Silence  while  eating  is, 
among  the  Mexicans,  a  national  trait ;  and  though  old  Bonaro 
was  sometimes  an  exception,  made  so  probably  by  his  residence 
in  the  States,  he  was  on  this  morning  taciturn  as  his  countrymen 
usually  are.  Catharina,  too,  was  indisposed  to  conversation ;  so 
that  the  frugal  meal  was  despatched  in  silence.  Having  given 
directions  that  his  guests  were  not  to  be  disturbed  for  two  or 
three  hours,  he  resumed  his  book  and  his  seat  upon  the  bench. 
Catharina  gave  instructions  to  Marola  for  the  preparation  of  a 
substantial  meal  for  the  Americanos  when  they  should  awake. 
Having  assisted  her  with  more  than  usual  attention,  she  took  a 
small  volume  from  the  recess  in  the  room  where  Allen  was 
sleeping ;  and,  taking  up  the  field-glass  which  lay  upon  the 
divan,  she  went  out  and,  climbing  the  path,  down  which  she 
had  preceded  our  friends,  disappeared  over  the  cliff.  Everything 
became  still  again— even  Marola  was  so  quiet  in  her  prepara- 
tions as  not  to  disturb  the  calm — and  the  old  man  could  hear 
the  heavy  breathing  of  his  guests  within,  at  the  bench  where  he 
was  sitting.  The  sun  came  over  the  Eastern  sierra,  and 
dashed  down  into  the  depths  of  the  ravine,  obliquely  illumin- 
ing its  opposite  wall,  and  changing  the  light  frost  which  lay 
upon  the  leaves  into  crystaV*,  auOi  ^TUfe\.\vj?x.%  -axv^  ^VaxsNaxids. 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  167 


The  wind  slightly  increased  in  force,  and  sighed  among  the 
thickets,  or  moaned  within  the  recesses  of  the  ravine,  and 
whispered  among  the  vines  and  flowers  of  the  arbor.  On  the 
summit  of  the  nearest  mountain  it  seemed  to  be  higher;  and  as 
the  fitful  moaning  rose  and  fell,  in  the  intervals  of  silence,  the 
old  man  could  hear  it  roaring  among  the  waving  pines  like  a 
distant  cataract.  The  risen  sun  began  to  m^ke  his  influence 
felt ;  for  the  goats  upon  the  mountain  sought  the  shade  of 
stunted  palms,  or  wandered  slowly  down  the  precipitous  rocks 
and  disappeared  within  the  beds  of  torrents  now  dry.  The 
cottage  was  yet  within  the  shade ;  but  the  breeze  from  the 
plain  came  breathing  the  warmth  of  barren  deserts ;  and  relax- 
ing with  its  delicious  softness,  seemed  to  invite  repose.  The 
old  man  closed  the  book  and  laid  it  on  the  bench  ;  then  sinking 
slowly  on  it,  he  stretched  himself  at  length  and  slept. 

Catharina  ascended  the  steep  path  which  led  to  the  level 
above,  and  walked  a  few  paces  from  the  edge  of  the  rock. 
Here  she  seated  herself  at  the  foot  of  a  large  misquit,  and 
opening  her  book  disposed  herself  as  if  to  read.  But  the  print, 
large  and  plain  as  it  was,  made  no  impression  on  her  mind,  and 
the  book  lay  upon  her  lap  unheotkd.  She  might  have  been 
absorbed  by  the  vast  and  various  view  before  her  :  or  she 
might  have  been  occupied  with  any  one  of  the  "  thick-coming 
fancies,"  which  haunt  the  brain  of  youth.  Probably  it  was  the 
former,  for  at  intervals  of  a  few  minutes  she  adjusted  the  glass 
and  slowly  swept  the  landscape,  from  the  top  of  tha  mountain 
opposite  and  above  her,  to  the  far,  fading  outskirts  of  the  sea- 
like plain  below.  If  she  was  searching  for  anything,  it  was 
apparently  not  found ;  for  she  laid  down  the  glass  each  tvnvb 
^nd  reXapsed  into  thought  fulness.     Thus  employed,  \i  eiap\o'^- 


168  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


ment  it  can  be  called,  she  continued  for  several  hours — 
apparently  unconscious  of  the  existence  of  any  one  on  earth, 
even  herself. 

In  the  mean  time,  at  the  end  of  about  two  hours,  the  old 
man's  slumber  was  broken  by  Marola,  who  announced  that  she 
had  at  last  prepared  a  breakfast  for  the  strangers — and  according 
to  his  directions,  in  case  of  necessity, ^  bowl  of  atole*  for  the 
invalid.  Upon  being  called,  Hugh  sprang  to  his  feet  and 
accompanied  Bonaro  to  Allen's  room.  The  latter  was  still 
sleeping,  but  his  face  was  flushed  and  the  occasional  uneasy 
motion  of  his  limbs  denoted  fever.  The  old  man  quietly  felt 
his  pulse  and  laying  the  arm  down  shook  his  head  and  led 
Hugh  out  of  the  room. 

"  He  has  fever,'*  said  he,  "  and  must  not  be  disturbed." 

"  Is  there  any  danger  ?"  asked  Hugh. 

"  I  hope  not,"  said  Bonaro,  "  but  I  cannot  tell  yet." 

"  At  all  events,"  said  Hugh,  seating  himself  at  the  table,  "1 
shall  not  leave  him  until  he  is  out  of  danger."  The  old  man 
retired,  and  Hugh  betook  himself  to  the  viands  prepared  for 
him — consisting  chiefly  of  young  kid's  flesh,  beans  and  tortUla^, 
(thin  corn  cakes) — to  eaclfc^f  which  he  did  ample  justice. 
Washing  it  down  with  a  cup  of  coffee,  he  took  up  Allen's  rifle 
and  strolled  or  rather  climbed  up  the  path  taken  by  Catharina. 

•  A  thin  gruel  made  with  corn  meal  and  water. 


CHAPTER    VI. 

^  Her  books  do  argue  her  replete  with  modesty." — Shaksfeaec. 

*  And  by  forbidding^  most  inflames,  desire." — Youncl 

"  I  pray  you  tarry  ;  pause  a  day  or  two 
Before  yon  hazard.*' — ^MsacHAinr  of  Ysricb. 

■  (  An  honest  tale  speeds  best  being  pkunly  told."— Ricuasd  IIL 

"  You  seem  to  be  absorbed,"  said  Hugh,  as  he  approached 
Catharina  and  took  the  seat  she  motioned  him  to  at  her  side. 

"  I  have  just  been  thinking  of  my  mother,"  she  replied. 
"  She  was  of  your  country  and  died,  as  I  told  you,  when  I 
was  born.  **  I  have  never  seen  the  United  States  ;  but  a  feel- 
ing, which  I  cannot  explain,  has  made  everything  that  relates 
to  them  an  interest  associated  with  her  memory." 

**  Every  American,  then,  ought  to  be  your  friend,"  said  Hugh.    ' 
"  I  can  speak  for  one  at  ail  events." 

*«  You  mean  yourself,"  said  she,  "  and  yet  you  have  not 
known  me  a  day.  But  it  does  not  follow,  because  I  feel  an  in* 
terest  in  Americans  that  they  should  all  be  my  friends.  Friend- 
ship is  not  a  matter  of  feeling  half  so  much  as  of  association 
and  habit.  If  feeling  produced  feeling,  I  fancy  there  would  be 
little  unhappiness  in  the  world — certainly  there  would  be  no 
suffering  of  what  we  call  *  unrequited  affection.*  " 

••  You  might  be  correct,"  said  Hugh,  with  a  smile,  "  \i  no 
one  person  ever  excited  afeotiofi  in  more  than  one  breast,    "ftviiX 


170  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 

one  80  likely  to  excite  love  as  you  are,  would  reason  more  cor- 
rectly .if  she  took  into  the  account  the  force  of  her  own  charms 
as  an 'example."' 

"  I  like  compliments,"  said  she,  "  when  they  are  neatly  turn- 
ed, especially.  But  that  is  not  to  the  purpose ;  for  I  believe 
that  no  one  person  ever  did  excite  a  pure,  true  and  lasting  affec- 
tion in  more  than  one  breast.  It  is  true  more  than  one  may 
pretend  affection  for  the  same  object ;  but  it  seems  to  me  not 
only  probable  but  certain,  that  all  but  one  are  either  deceiving 
others  or  themselves.'* 

"  Your  theory  has  one  advantage,  if  no  other,"  said  Hugh: 
<*  if  it  is  not  capable  of  proof,  at  least  it  cannot  be  disproved." 

**  That  is  but  a  weak  commendation  of  it,"  she  replied;  *'for 
the  same  might  be  said  of  the  wildest  vagaries.     But  it  is  not 
true.     My  theory  is  susceptible  of  the  same  proof  which  sus- 
tains more  than  half  of  the  received  opinions  of  the   world. 
Look  at  the  cases  in  which  you  think  you  see  its  contradiction, 
Let  two  men  pretend,  or  eyen  sincerely  believe,  themselves  in 
love  with  the  same  woman.     In  every  case  you  will  find  that 
one  or  the  other  afterwards  finds  that  he  has  been  entirely  mis- 
taken ;  that  the  love  he  mistook  for  a  real  passion,  was  only 
the  scattered  drops  of  a  full  heart,  whose  whole  plenary  ten- 
derness is  now  poured  out  on  another  and  entirely  different 
altar ; — and  unfortunately  in  too  many  cases  this  galling  con- 
iBoiousness  comes  to  him  who  has  secured  the  prize,  equally  as 
it  has  pome  to  him  who  thought  himself  miserable,  buf  was  in 
^reality  ble^t^  in  l^is  disappointment." 

f'  Do  you  think  this  neyer  happens  to  the  other  sex  ?" 
"Assuredly,  even  oftener   than  to   the   first,"  she  replied. 
f*  Womefi  liave  more  fancy  ^  ^}.Yvo\x^  tvqv  xwat^  vuia^inatioo,) 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  171 


than  men.  Their  lives  are  such,  both  inwardly  and  in  their 
station  in  society,  that  they  become  far  more  liable  to  self-de- 
ceit ;  their  impressibility  combines  with  their  impatience,  and 
fancy  lends  enchantment  where  too  often  the  real  magic  has 
never  come.  There  are  more  dissatisfied  wives  in  the  world, 
than  there  are  disconsolate  husbands.'' 

**  I  should  think  the  number  would  be  equal/'  suggested 
Hugh. 

"  And  so  they  would  be,"  she  rejoined,  "  if,  as  you  suppose, 
the  one  necessarily  produced  the  other  ;  but  it  is  not  so.  Men's 
pursuits  are  so  absorbing,  and,  forgive  me  if  I  say,  both  their 
perceptions  and  their  feelings  are  often  so  blunt,  that  an  un- 
happy woman,  if  she  have  sense  enough  to  know  the  folly  and 
hopelessness  of  discovery,  can  very  easily  conceal  her  discontent 
and  make  her  husband  think  her  the  happiest  of  women.  Men's 
vanity  and  complaisance,  too,  make  them  easily  blinded  by 
affectionate  words  and  actions,  even  though  these  have  their 
source  no  deeper  than  the  lips." 

**  One  would  suppose,"  said  Hugh,  after  a  pause,  "  that  in- 
stead of  being  young  as  you  are,  you  had  passed  a  long  life  in 
wedlock." 

"  That,  "  said  she,  "  is  only  because  it  is  generally  believed 
that  the  only  way  of  acquiring  wisdom  is  by  experience; 
whereas,  one  learns  more  by  observation,  and  still  more  by 
reflection." 

'*  At  least  you  must  have  thought  a  great  deal  about  mar* 


riage." 


"  I  have  had  nothing  else  to  do,  the  greater  part  of  my  time, 
she  replied.     **  But  you  are  wrong  in  supposing  that  I  have 
been  led  to  think  about  It,  by  any  ides^  gi  soon  enteiing  IYl^  ^XaXa 


172  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


"  I  am  glad  to  h^ar  it,"  said  Hugh ;  "  and  yet — ** 

^^  And  yet,  what  ?"  she  asked,  looking  around  as  he  hesitated; 
«'  and  why  are  you  glad  ?" 

"  I  do  not  know,"  said  Hugh,  with  some  hesitation  ;  "  but  I 
felt  relieved  when  you  said  so,  because  the  idea  of  your  think- 
ing of  marriage  seemed  to  threaten  that  ere  long  I  should  cease 
to  see  you." 

"  Why,"  said  she,  surprised  and  blushing,  "  our  meeting  has 
been  only  an  accident ;  and  as  soon  as  your  friend  can  be  re- 
moved you  will  leave  us  and  we  will  most  probably  meet  no 


more." 


<*  He  is  not  likely  to  be  able  to  move  for  some  time/'  said 
Hugh. 

"  You  say  that  as  if  you  rejoiced  at  his  misfortune  !"  she  ex- 
claimed half  reproachfully,  but  still  smiling  as  if  not  ill  pleased. 

"  O !  God  forbid  !"  he  exclaimed  in  his  turn.  "  I  rejoice  not 
at  his  ill  fortune,  but  at  my  good  fortune." 

*'  And  you  consider  it  good  fortune  to  be  confined  here  among 
the  mountains  for  perhaps  a  month  or  more  ?"  she  pursued. 

"  If  I  were  confined  aXone^  I  would  not  so  consider  it,"  said 
he  with  marked  emphasis. 

"  You  are  determined  I  shall  understand,"  said  she  laughing, 
<<  and  I  do  ;  but  you  Americans  all  go  so  fast,  I  can  scarcely 
keep  up." 

**  That's  a  way  we  have,"  said  Hugh,  relapsing  at  once,  at 
the  allusion,  into  the  soldier. 

"  Well,"  said  she,  gravely,  "  we  have  travelled  quite  far 
enough  in  this  direction,  for  the  present ;  let  us  take  some  other 

f  Yoxx  think  it  would  be  wiong^  to  \\«x^tv  \.o  vcv  «v^\xn.^  V  said 
he. 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  173 


"By  no  means,"  she  replied.  "Truth  and  honor  should  be 
respected  and  beloved  in  friend  and  foe.  But  it  is  truth  and 
honor  only  which  are  entitled  to  even  a  respectful  hearing." 

"You  do  not  think  me  capable — "  he  began. 

"  I  think  nothing  about  it,"  she  interrupted  somewhat  sharply. 
"  But  I  have  heard  that  the  Mexican  ladies  are  held  very  cheap 
in  the  American  camp ;  and  I  am  determined  neither  to  do,  nor 
permit  anything  to  justify  the  opinion.  You  should  recollect, 
Sefior,  that  we  are  acquaintances  of  only  a  few  hours ;  and  that 
the  guest  should  treat  his  host  with  as  much  deference  as  he 
receives  hospitality. ' ' 

Hugh  was  dumb.  She  had  spoken  in  a  voice  and  manner  as 
unlike  her  former  light  gaiety,  and  as  different  to  even  her 
more  grave  tone,  as  night  is  to  day.  He  did  not  know  how 
he  had  offended  her ;  because  he  could  not  know  the  horror 
with  which  a  pure  mind  would  shrink  from  anything,  which  it 
supposed  tended  to  class  it  with  those  so  lightly  esteemed  as 
were  Mexican  women  by  the  Americans.  In  truth  he  had  not 
offended  her  at  all ;  though  by  no  means  in  love  with  him,  so 
soon,  she  was  really  much  pleased  with  his  free,  soldierly  bear- 
ing, and  his  fine  manly  form  and  features.  And  it  was  because 
of  this  very  interest,  for  which  there  was  also  another  reason  to 
be  adverted  to  hereafter,  which  she  began  to  feel  gaining  upon 
her,  that  she  felt  anxious  about  his  good  opinion — that  she  was 
unwilling  to.  encourage  his  warm  expressions,  in  the  fear  that 
he  might  infer  unfavorably  from  her  complaisance.  Her  face 
was  flushed,  for  she  had  spoken  warmly  ; — she  began  to  think 
too  warmly, — for  Hugh  gazed  in  her  face  with  undisguised  ad- 
miration, but  with  an  expression  of  deep  concern.  She  turned 
her  face  to  him  and  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm. 


174  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 

**  You  must  not  think  me  ill-natured,  Seilor/'  she  said  in  a 
voice  of  winning  softness  ;  **  for  I  have  been  so  galled  by  the 
relation  of  the  intercourse  of  your  soldiers,  with  the  women  of 
this  country,  that  I  even  think  a  ccMnmon  civility  an  attempt  to 
bring  me  down  to  their  level.'' 

"  The  opinions  of  the  army,"  said  he,  "  are  based  upon  what 
they  have  seen ;  and  I  would  willingly  believe  that  these  are 
only  the  lowest/' 

**  They  are  indeed !"  she  broke  in  eagerly ;  "  they  are  indeed! 
And  yet  the  Americans  ask  *  Can  any  good  come  out  of 
Nazareth  V  just  as  if  they  had  seen  all  there  is  to  be  seen  in 
the  country.  But  they  should  remember  the  words  of  one  of 
your  own  rugged  writers — whose  works  my  father  sometimes 
reads  to  me — *  Even  a  Russian  steppe  has  tumuli  and  gold 
ornaments,** — and  should  not  conclude,  that,  because  only  the 
low  and  degraded  have  abided  the  approach  of  an  invading 
army,  whom  they  have  been  taught  to  believe  barbarians, 
therefore  there  are  none  dtU  the  low  and  degraded." 

"  I,  for  one,"  said  Hugh,  "  am  very  far  from  believing  so-, 
for  I  have  a  proof  of  the  error  before  me." 

"  I  told  you  a  while  ago,"  she  replied,  "  that  I  liked  compli- 
ments; but  you  must  not  forget  what  I  have  said  since." 

"  You  said  we  had  travelled  far  enough  in  this  direction  far 
the  present,*^  said  Hugh.  "  I  infer  that  at  some  future  time  we 
may  resume  the  path." 

"  That  depends  upon  you,  not  upon  me,"  she  rejoined.  "  Let 
us  deal  plainly.  I  do  not  know  that  anything  you  have  said, 
or  anything  you  were  about  to  say,  was  intended  as  more  than 

^Catharina  was  a  little  mistaken  about  the  country  of  this  writer— ft 
18  Carlyle, 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  175 


an  amusement,  which,  Heaven  knows,  you  may  need  long 
before  you  leave  us.  I  rather  incline  to  believe  that  was  the 
sole  motive,  and  though  I  do  not  like  it,  I  can  still  forgive  it. 
Hear  me  out — I  know  what  you  would  say.  If  you  were 
seriously  disposed  so  suddenly  to  pronounce  words,  which  ought 
to  be  spoken  only  upon  mature  reflection,  the  time  may  come, 
when,  if  anything  connected  with  me  shall  be  of  the  least  im- 
portance, you  will  thank  me  for  not  allowing  you  to  proceed. 
But  if  that  time  should  not  come — **  and  here  her  voice  trem- 
bled, but  she  recovered  its  firmness  and  went  on — "  if  you 
should  upon  reflection  wish  to  renew  the  subject,  speak  plainly 
and  I  will  not  interrupt  you.  In  the  mean  time,  remember  that 
I  am  here,  the  defenceless  daughter  of  one  who  treats  you 
kindly — that  your  arms  are  in  possession  of  my  country — and 
that  it  would  be  an  abuse  of  the  hospitality  shown  you,  to  press 
upon  me  any  such  subject.  Is  it  agreed  ?"  She  extended  her 
small,  soft  hand  with  a  smile  which  Hugh  could  not  have 
resisted  if  he  would.  He  pressed  it  in  his  and  was  silent. 
* "  It  is  a  bargain,  then,''  said  she,  taking  up  the  field  glass 
which  lay  upon  the  ground  beside  her.  "  And  now  let  me  ex- 
amine that  spot  yonder,  where  there  seems  to  be  some  one 
moving." 

There  was  something  so  dignified,  and  yet  so  candid,  open 
and  womanly  in  all  this,  that  Hugh  could  not  either  doubt  its 
sincerity  or  question  its  propriety.  He  may  not  have  been  en- 
tirely in  love  with  her,  as  yet ;  but  he  was  much  nearer  to  it 
than  when  he  sat  down,  and  with  much  better  reason  than  can 
generally  be  given  for  the  same  state  of  feeling.  He  turned 
his  eyes  in  the  direction  of  the  telescope,  and  after  looking  a 
moment,  couJd  plainly  distinguish  someting  moving  among  \\\A 


176  TALBOT  AND  VEBNON. 

low  trees  at  the  distance  of  a  little  more  than  a  mile.  He 
could  not,  however,  discover  whether  the  object  was  a  man  or 
something  else.  This  doubt  was  soon  cleared  up ;  for  Catharina 
laid  down  the  glass,  and  said — 

"  It  is  Ignacio ;  you  had  better  be  concealed,  for  we  do  not 
know  whether  we  can  trust  him.'' 

"  Who  is  Ignacio  ?" 

"  He  is  the  man  who  brings  us  supplies  from  Saltillo  once  a 
week.  I  do  not  know  much  of  him,  except  that  he  has  a  face 
which  is  far  from  expressing  honesty  or  generosity ;  for  I  al- 
ways judge  men  by  their  faces,  whether  justly  or  not." 

«  Then  the  first  glance  is  enough  to  determine  you,"  said 
Hugh. 

She  smiled,  and  replied — 

"  We  are  both  thinking  of  the  same  thing,  I  perceive  ;  you 
think  if  I  judge  so  rapidly,  there  is  no  reason  for  referring  you 
to  another  day.  But  you  forget ;  I  do  not  do  so  on  my  own 
account  so  much  as  upon  yours.  And  besides  I  form  my 
opinions,  not  my  feelings,  in  this  way."  • 

"I  submit,  of  course,"  said  her  companion,  "but  always 
under  protest  that  you  are  wrong  in  expecting  time  to  effect  a 
change." 

"  Well,  well,"  she  said  rapidly,  as  she  rose  to  her  feet,  "  I 
must  hide  you  now,  and  talk  to  you  some  other  time." 

She  led  him  a  few  steps  back  upon  the  path  over  which  they 
had  come,  and  passed  through  a  short  avenue  where  the  chap- 
arral encroached  upon  and  overhung  the  path.  Coming  out 
where  the  way  turned  down  the  cliff  towards  the  house,  *he 
turned  suddenly  to  the  left,  entering  a  thicket  by  holding  the 
bushes  back  with  her  bands. 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  177 


''  Here,*'  said  she,  stopping  at  the  end  of  a  few  paces,  and 
opening  the  foliage — "  here  is  a  feature  of  our  domain  you 
have  not  seen." 

Hugh  advanced  to  her  side,  and  found  himself  on  the  brink 
of  a  chasm  cut  by  the  waters  to  the  depth  of  near  sixty  feet, 
but  so  concealed  by  the  bushes  on  its  edges  as  only  to  be  dis- 
covered by  parting  the  tangled  branches.  It  was  more  than 
twenty  feet  wide,  too,  and  seemed  to  extend  a  long  distance 
both  up  and  down. 

"  Did  we  cross  this  ?**  he  asked. 

"  Yes,'*  said  she  ;  **  the  little  opening  there  is  over  a  bridge 
built  so  long  ago  as  to  be  overgrown  by  the  vines,  and  blended 
with  the  ground  on  each  side.     If  you  will  stoop  a  little  you 


can  see  it." 


He  did  so,  and  found  that  two  points  of  rock  jutted  out  from 
each  side  of  the  chasm,  and  approached  each  other  so  nearly  as 
to  admit  of  two  large  flat  stones  being  extended  at  an  angle 
of  about  fifty  degrees — one  on  each  side,  and  resting  with  their 
upper  ends  against  each  other,  thus  forming  a  kind  of  arch, 
being  two  sides  of  a  triangle.  On  these  the  earth  had  been 
thrown  so  as  to  fill  up  the  opening  level  with  the  ground  on 
each  side ;  and  from  this  earth  had  sprung  various  kinds  of 
8hrubs,  briars,  and  vines,  so  as  to  answer  the  purposes  of  screen 
and  balustrade. 

**  How  far  does  this  ravine  extend  V*  asked  Hugh. 

"  It  is  a  branch  of  the  larger  one  which  the  house  overlooks, 
she  replied,  "  and  runs  into  it  at  both  ends,  about  half  a  mile 
above,  and  the  same  distance  below  the  house.     This  is  its 
shallowest  point ;    the  waters  have  washed   it  out  above  to 
within  fifty  feet  of  the  bed  of  the  main  arroyo  ;  but  "beVovi 


178  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 

there  is  a  waterfall,  in  the  wet  season,  of  more  than  one  hun- 
dred feet  in  height." 

<<  Then  the  house  is  on  an  island/'  said  Hugh,  "connected 
with  the  mainland  only  by  this  bridge  ?" 

"  Yes/*  said  Catharina  ;  "  but  there  is  a  path  down  the  bed 
of  this  chasm  by  which  we  can  reach  the  bottom  of  the  great 
ravine :  it  is,  however,  not  accessible  from  below  without  as- 
sistance from  above.  The  path  is  reached  by  a  stone  door 
which  opens  at  the  back  of  the  recess  you  saw  me  enter  in  the 
room  where  your  friend  lies.** 

"  It  is  admirably  situated  for  defence,"  said  Hugh. 

"  And,**  said  she,  "  its  capabilities  in  that  way  may  soon  be 
tried.** 

"  How  do  you  mean  ?'* 

*'  I  saw  two  men  besides  Ignacio,**  said  she,  "  apparently 
following  him — perhaps  led  by  him ;  and  these  men  may  be 
the  same  who  were  pursuing  you.'* 

"  If  they  are  only  two,**  said  Hugh,  with  a  smile,  "  we  shall 
have  no  necessity  for  throwing  down  the  bridge.'* 

"  If  they  are  alone — perhaps  not,'*  she  replied.  "  But  I 
hear  them  coming ;  T  must  run  down  and  warn  father.** 

**  I  will  go  with  you,'*  said  Hugh ;  but  she  stopped  him. 

•*  You  remain  here,"  she  said,  "  I  cannot  conceal  more  than 
one ;  but  if  you  hear  me  call,  you  may  come  as  soon  as  you 
wish.  AdioSf  then,*'  and  giving  him  her  hand,  which  he 
carried  to  his  lips,  she  smiled  at  the  gesture,  and  left  him. 


CHAPTER    VII. 

«  Mj  lord,  there  are  certain  nobleg  of  the  genate 
Come  to  visit  you." — Timow  or  Atheitii. 

"  Fast  bind,  fast  find.''— Merchant  of  Veiticb. 

'*  Muse  not  that  I  thus  suddenly  proceed.'' — Two  Okittlkmbit  of  Ybsoiva. 

By  the  time  Catharina  reached  the  house,  and  warned  her 
father  of  the  approach  of  strangers,  Hugh  could  hear  footsteps 
and  voices  not  more  than  fifty  yards  from  him,  on  the  other  side 
of  the  ravine.  One  dark,  short  Mexican,  dressed  in  the  usual 
costume  of  his  class  and  country — slashed  pants,  serape  and 
sombrero — preceded  two  others,  and  led  a  mule  heavily  laden 
with  various  supplies,  such  as  beans,  flour,  cornmeal,  and  fresh 
pork.  The  two  behind  him  Hugh  could  possibly  have  recog- 
nized if  he  had  seen  them — they  were  the  same  respectable 
couple  who  had  followed  him  and  Allen  on  the  day  before. 
They  were,  however,  now  afoot,  and  apparently  bent  upon  a 
peaceful  mission ;  for  the  broken  conversation  which  passed 
between  them  and  Ignacio,  denoted  that  they  were  attracted  by 
the  prospect  of  finding  something  to  eat. 

"  I  see  no  rancho  near  here,  homhre^''  said  the  taller  of  them, 
as  they  came  near  the  bridge.  **  I  think  we  had  better  stop 
and  cook  some  of  that  meat  here." 

"It  is  jjght  here,  se&or/*  replied  Ignacio^  "witli  lYie  «ai£i^ 


IgO  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


tone  and  gesture  he  would  have  used  had  it  been  five  miles 
away. 

"  Humph  I**  said  Hugh  to  himself;  "I  wish  he  were  no 
nearer  to  the  truth  than  these  fellows  usually  are." 

The  words  were  spoken  aloud  and  reached  the  Mexican's 
ears,  though  indistinctly.  He  started,  and  raised  his  carbine  to 
his  face,  as  if  to  fire  into  the  bushes.  But  no  further  sound  fol- 
lowed,  and  apparently  reassured  he  walked  on.  Ignacio  tied 
the  mule  on  the  inside  of  the  bridge,  and  relieving  her  of  her 
load,  took  part  of  it  in  his  hands  and  descended  to  the  house. 
The  two  men  followed  him,  and  they  passed  out  of  Hugh's 
hearing. 

As  they  reached  the  little  terrace  on  which  the  rancho  was 
built,  they  manifested  considerable  surprise ;  but  a  moment 
afterwards  old  Bonaro  came  out  of  the  door  next  to  them,  and 
invited  them  within. 

*'  Are  you  not  Andres  Bonaro  of  Monterey  ?"  asked  the  leader. 

**  I  am,"  said  the  old  man.     "  And  who  are  you  ?" 

"  Miguel  Perez,  of  San  Buenaventura  ;  I  am  hunting  cattle 
among  the  mountains,  and  had  got  out  of  provisions,  when  we 
met  your  man,  Ignacio,  and  came  along  with  him  to  throw  our- 
selves on  your  hospitality.** 

"  Are  you  not  the  Perez  who  has  a  beef  contract  with  the 
Americans  ?'* 

"  The  same,  Senor."  The  man  replied  as  if  in  justification, 
"  But  what  could  I  do  ?  They  took  my  cattle  and  I  could  not 
prevent  it — I  had  better  have  pay  for  the  cattle,  than  lose  them 
without,  certainly." 

"  I  do  not  blame  you,"  said  Bonaro  ;  "  you  need  not  justify 
yourself  to  me.     Marola,"  he  coii\.m\i^d»  turning  to  the  female, 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  181 


**  prepare  something  to  eat  for  Tgnacio  and  the  Se^ors — they 
will  excuse  me  for  a  while."  So  saying  he  pointed  to  rude 
benches,  ranged  along  the  south  side  of  the  room,  on  which  the 
two  men  seated  themselves,  and  passed  out. 

He  had  hardly  gone  out  of  hearing  when  Marola  approached 
close  to  Perez  and  in  a  low  voice  whispered — 

"  He  is  gone  to  hide  Los  America7ios,** 

"  IjOS  Americanos  /"  said  Perez  in  the  same  tone.  "  Are 
these  Americans  at  the  rancko  ?'* 

"  Si,  sehor"  said  the  woman,  gazing  at  him  with  her  furtive 
eyes  as  if  £he  would  have  penetrated  his  soul.  "Two  of 
them." 

"  Two  of  them  ?"  he  repeated,  turning  to  his  companion  with 
an  inquiring  glance.  "These  may  be  our  men,  and  this 
explains  their  escaping  us  so  completely.  'When  did  they 
come  here  ?" 

"  This  morning  early,"  she  said  ;  "  one  of  them  had  his  arm 
broken  and  is  now  in  bed  in  the  south  room.  The  other  walked 
out  with  Catharina  several  hours  ago." 

"Is  he  very  sick  ?"  asked  the  Mexican. 

"  I  do  not  know,"  said  the  woman  ;  "  but  he  is  in  bed." 

"  Can  we  not  take  them  ourselves  ?"  whispered  the  Mexican 
to  his  companion.  "  If  we  can  secure  the  one  who  is  well,  the 
other  will  give  us  no  trouble.  Where  did  you  say  the  other  is, 
muger  ?'* 

"  On  the  mountain  somewhere,"  she  replied ;  "I  saw 
Catharina  come  in  alone  a  few  minutes  ago." 

The  leader  turned  again  to  his  companion,  and  a  whispered 
conference  ensued,  inaudible  to  Marola,  but  not  to  Catharina. 
The  latter  had  first  locked  the  door  of  the  room  in  wYiicYi  AWetv 


189  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


lay,  and  then  passed  into  the  next  room,  where  Hagh  had 
slept.  Soon  afterwards,  reappearing,  she  entered  the  third 
room,  which  was  hung  with  red  instead  of  white,  but  in  other 
respects  corresponded  with  the  second.  She  approached  the 
north  side  of  the  room  which  adjoined  that  in  which  the  men 
were,  and  drew  aside  the  hangings  about  midway  of  the  wall. 
This  disclosed  an  open  doorway,  into  which  she  stepped,  drop- 
ping the  hangings  noiselessly  behind  her.  She  was  thus 
separated  from  the  men  only  by  a  heavy  Spanish  blanket  which 
was  fastened  across  the  doorway  on  the  side  of  the  kitchen. 
She  reached  this  place  about  the  time  her  father  left  the  room, 
and  was  therefore  an  ear-witness  and  in  some  degree  an  eye- 
witness of  the  conference  in  the  other  room.  By  bending  down 
she  could  distinguish  the  words  of  the  confederates  ;  and  soon 
learned  that  if  they  could  gain  access  to  Allen's  room  they 
would  at  once  secure  him,  and  then  await  the  approach  of 
Hugh.  She  observed  that  they  spoke  of  them  by  name,  as  if 
they  knew  them ;  and  that  it  was  only  Hugh  whom  they 
wished  to  kill.  "  These  men  do  not  belong  to  General  Miiion, 
then,"  she  thought,  "  and  they  are  actuated  by  treachery,  not 
patriotism.'*     Her  resolution  was  taken  in  a  moment. 

Lifting  the  curtain  again,  she  softly  passed  back  into  the 
third  room,  and  sought  her  father.  A  hurried  consultation  en- 
sued, and  she  entered  the  room  where  the  men  were  still 
seated. 

"  Is  your  name  Miguel  Perez,  Se%or  ?"  she  asked  as  she 
entered. 

"  Siy  Sehora^'*  the  other  replied  as  he  took  off  his  sombrero. 

"  Are  you  the  same  who  has  a  beef-contract  with  the 
American  commissary  V^  she  p\xisv\fi^. 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  183 


"  Siy  Sector  at  the  same,"  he  again  replied. 

<*  Then  you  are  a  friend  to  the  Americans  ?"  she  again  asked. 

*'  Sly  Sehora"  he  replied  once  more ;  "  nothing  would 
please  me  better  than  to  have  an  opportunity  of  showing  it." 

**  You  will  pardon  my  caution,"  she  said  after  a  pause  ;  "  it 
is  necessary  that  I  make  no  mistake.  There  are  two  Ameri- 
cans here  in  distress,  having  been  chased  by  some  of  General 
Miflon's  cavalry  ;  and  one  of  them  is  very  sick.  He  recollects 
your  name,  however,  and  says  you  can  be  trusted.  Who  is 
this  you  have  with  you  ?" 

<*  Antonio  Rey,  my  assistant,"  the  man  replied ,  "he  is  as 
worthy  of  trust  as  myself.  Will  you  tell  me  who  the  Ameri- 
can is?" 

**  I  doubt  not  you  are  equally  trustworthy,"  she  replied  calmly. 
"  The  name  of  one  of  the  Americans  is  Vernon  ;  the  other  name 
I  cannot  pronounce." 

•*  Manning,  is  it  not  ?"  said  he.  "  They  left  the  camp  to- 
gether." 

"  You  know  them,  then  ?" 

**  I  have  seen  them  both,"  said  the  man. 

**  Well,"  said  Catharina,  "  Mr.  Vernon  wishes  to  send  word 
to  his  friends  of  his  situation  ;  will  you  go  with  me  to  his  bed- 
side ?" 

"  Willingly,"  said  he  ;  "  but  Antonio  knows  him  better  than 
I  do,  and  speaks  English  better.     Perhaps  he  had  better  go  with 


us." 


"  Very  well,"  said  she,  "  let  us  go.     You  had  better  leave 
your  carbines  here  ;  he  is  feverish  and  they  might  annoy  him." 

The  men  laid  down  their  guns,  and  Perez  glanced  stealthily 
at  Marola  and  then  at  them.     She  nodded  slightly  and  lYie^  ioV 
)owed  Catharina.    She  led  them  out  into  the  arbOT  and  xsaaX  \Xvft 


184  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 

second  door.  Opening  the  door  of  the  room  in  which  Hugh  had 
slept,  she  passed  across  it  and  held  back  the  hangings  of  the  op- 
posite side.  She  thus  disclosed  a  massive  stone  door,  high  and 
narrow,  made  of  one  heavy  slab,  secured  on  the  outside  by  a 
strong  iron  bolt  let  into  the  solid  rock.  This  bolt  she  slipped 
back  and  pushed  the  door  open.  Within  they  could  see  a  small 
room  with  a  high  ceiling  and  three  sides.  It  was  dimly  lit  by 
a  small  grated  window  about  as  high  as  a  man's  head ;  and  in 
the  obscurity  they  could  just  see  a  bed  on  whicli  some  one 
seemed  to  be  lying. 

"  We  put  him  here  for  greater  security,"  she  said,  as  she 
stood  aside  with  her  hand  on  the  bolt,  to  allow  them  to  pass. 
This  they  did  eagerly  towards  the  bed ;  but  before  they  were 
half  way  across  the  room  they  heard  the  door  close  behind  them ; 
and  on  turning  they  found  themselves  prisoners!  Catharina 
had  drawn  the  door  shut  and  slipped  the  bolt  into  its  socket — 
thus  securing  it  so  safely  that  the  strength  of  ten  men  could  not 
have  moved  it  the  breadth  of  a  hair.  Perez  sprang  to  the  place, 
but  found  that  the  slab  was  so  neatly  fitted  that  even  the  point 
of  his  sword  could  not  enter  the  crevice. 

**  CarajoP'  he  exclaimed,  fiercely,  *'  what  does  this  mean  ?'* 

"  It  means,"  said  Catharina,  from  the  other  side,  "  that  you 

are  prisoners ;  and  that  we  will  not  allow  you  to  play  the 


traitor." 


He  saw  at  once  that  his  plan  was  discovered,  and  that  he 
had  been  outwitted.  After  in  vain  endeavoring  to  persuade 
her  to  open  the  door,  making  every  conceivable  pledge  of  good 
behavior,  he  at  Jast  desisted  in  despair,  when  she  assured  him 
solemnly  that  he  should  not  see  the  outside  of  the  door  again, 
until  the  Americans  were  in  safex,^.  He  turned  with  a  d^p 
cvLtae  to   the  bed  ;  and  waa  not  ^nx^^m^^  v.ci  ^xA  \v  %tw^. 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  185 


Catharina  had,  in  fact,  in  anticipation  of  what  afterwards  hap- 
pened, thrown  the  clothes  together  in  such  a  manner  as  to  pre- 
sent at  first  glance  the  appearance  of  being  occupied.  Perez 
thrust  his  sword  angrily  into  them,  and  then  threw  it  down 
upon  the  floor.  He  advanced  to  the  window  and  looked  out ; 
but  the  view  was  bounded  by  the  perpendicular  side  of  the 
ravine,  some  twenty  feet  from  him ;  and  from  the  window  he 
could  see  neither  top  nor  bottom. 

"  This  is  a  handsome  termination  of  our  enterprise,"  he  said, 
bitterly,  as  he  turned  and  seated  himself  upon  the  bed. 

The  other  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  approached  the  door. 

"  At  any  rate,"  said  he,  slipping  a  large  bolt  corresponding  to 
that  on  the  outside,  "  if  we  cannot  get  out,  they  cannot  get  in.'* 

"  That  is  some  consolation,  truly,"  said  the  other  still  more 
bitterly. 

In  the  meantime  Catharina  called  her  father,  and  leaving 
him,  to  guard  the  door,  she  ran  lightly  up  the  path  to  Hugh. 

**  I  have  them  safe,"  said  she,  laughing,  as  she  approached 
him  quietly  seated  on  the  ground.     . 

"  What  have  you  done  ?"  he  asked,  rising.  "  And  who  are 
they  ?" 

"  The  men  who  were  following  you.  I  have  caged  them 
where  they  cannot  escape.     Come,  you  shall  be  their  jailer." 

"  Splendidly  done  I"  he  exclaimed  as  she  related  her  strata- 
gem, "  and  you  are  a  real  heroine  I"  He  threw  his  arm  sud- 
denly around  her  and  in  spite  of  her  struggles  kissed  her  cheek. 

"  I  differ  from  most  heroines,  however,"  said  she  extricating 
herself  and  springing  some  paces  from  him  ;  "  for  I  am  not  fond 
of  kissing,  even  from  heroes  like  yourself." 

There  was  a  ffasb  in  her  eye  which ,  notwithslaud'mg  ^  i^MiX. 
emJIe,  Hugh  sa  \v  denoted  anger. 


186  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


"  Pardon  me,**  said  he  softly,  "I  had  forgotten." 

**  You  must  not  forget  again,**  she  said  gravely,  "  and  on  that 
condition  alone  I  forgive  you  now.  Another  such  attack  and  I 
open  the  door  to  your  enemies.** 

"  I  would  rather  fight  them  than  offend  you,**  said  he,  "  and 
therefore  I  accept  the  condition — ^for  the  present.** 

"  Why  do  you  say,  *  for  tlie  present  ?*  *' 

"  I  was  only  repeating  your  own  words,'*  said  Hugh,  smiling. 

"True,  true;  I  had  forgotten.** 

"You  must  not  forget  again,'*  said  Hugh,  "and  on  that  con- 
dition alone,  I  forgive  you  now.** 

"  I  am  not  likely  to  forget,**  said  she  smiling  again,  "  if  you 
wish  me  to  remember.'* 

"  You  must  not  doubt,  either,**  said  he. 

"  Well,  well,'*  she  said,  "  let  us  adjourn  the  discussion,  and  go 
to  see  our  prisoners." 

Having  shown  him  the  door,  she  next  took  him  through  Al- 
len's room,  where  the  latter  still  slept  heavily,  and  into  the 
recess  from  which  we  saw  her  take  the  goblets.  Here  she 
pushed  open  a  small  door  and  they  stepped  out  upon  a  narrow 
ledge,  which  overhung  the  bed  of  the  ravine  some  forty  feet, 
and  ran  along  the  face  of  the  wall  about  half  that  distance. 

"  By  that  window,"  said  she,  "  you  will  have  to  feed  your 
prisoners." 

"  Were  there  not  three  of  them  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Only  two,"  said  she.     "  Ignacio  is  in  the  house  somewhere, 
but  father  will  see  that  he  does  no  harm." 

"  And  Marola?"  said  he. 

^'  We  must  watch  her."     And  they  returned  to  the  front  of 
the  house. 


CTH  AFTER    VIII. 

"  'Arcades  ambo,'  id  est,  blackguards  both."— Byron. 

"  I  do  it  not  in  evil  disposition. 
Bat  from  Lord  Angelo,  by  special  charge." — Measure  for  Measure. 

"  Necessity  knows  no  law  ;'*  and  perhaps  the  necessity  of 
foUowing  the  course  of  a  story  is  the  most  inexorable  of  all 
necessities.  How  often  have  we — in  the  first  years  of  our 
novel-reading,  when  the  passage  through  the  land  of  fiction 
was  like  a  walk  on  a  dewy  morning  in  summer — how  many, 
many  times  have  we  been  hurried  away  by  this  arbitrary  neces- 
sity, from  pleasant  passages  of  love,  or  exciting  tales  of  won- 
drous adventure,  to  follow  the  fortunes  of  some  prosy,  matter- 
of-fact  personage  or  character,  whose  bosom  never  owned  the 
"  grand  passion,"  or  whose  heart  had  no  extra  bound  for  "hair- 
breadth 'scapes,'*  or  wonderful  adventure  I  And  this,  too — oh  I 
unreasonable  and  capricious  "  necessity  I" — just  when  the  lover 
was  taking  his  mistress'  hand,  or  when  some  murderous  villain 
was  stealing  round  a  corner,  or  through  a  dark  passage,  upon 
his  unsuspecting  victim  !  When  we  did  not  know,  but,  on  re- 
turning to  the  scene  again,  we  would  find  the  lovely,  blue-eyed 
heroine  fainted  utterly  away,  or  the  unconscious  hero  weltering 
in  his  blood  I  If  Bulwer  and  James,  et  id  omni  genus,  could 
hear  the  one  thousandth  part  of  the  curses  they  have  received 
for  this  sin,  ot could  they  know  how  many  pages  o?  "  ^ue  ^wtSX. 


188  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 

ing*'  have  been  skipped ^  and  inconsistently  consigned  to  ob- 
livion, we  verily  believe  they  would  strive  to  "  mend  their 
ways  I"  Strive  they  might,  with  all  their  great  strength,  but 
ineflfectually  ;  for  it  is  unfortunately  true  that  even  in  the  best- 
told  stories,  there  is  often  a  "  dire  necessity"  for  suddenly  and 
even  provokingly  shifting  the  scenes. 

To  such  a  point  have  we  come  in  our  turn.  We  must  leave 
our  friends  in  their  precarious  situation — a  situation  rendered 
more  precarious  than  they  knew,  by  the  numerous  scouting 
parties  already  pushed  forward  towards  the  American  lines  by 
General  Mifton — and  look  into  General  Taylor's  camp  at  Agua 
Nueva.  General  Wool's  column,  which  had  been  started  on 
an  expedition  to  Chihuahua,  but  as  every  sensible  man  foresaw, 
did  not  get  there — had  been  marching  and  countermarching 
between  Buena  Vista,  Encantada,  and  Agua  Nueva,  at  inter- 
vals of  two  or  three  days,  and  was  now,  with  the  troops  left  to 
Taylor  by  Scott's  requisition,  encamped  at  the  place  last  men- 
tioned. 

Agua  Nueva  is  a  mere  collection  of  ranchos,  standing  at  the 
head  of  the  same  valley,  upon  a  lower  terrace  of  which  Sal- 
tillo  is  built.  The  two  ridges,  which  bound  this  valley  upon 
the  east  and  west,  approach  each  other  at  Buena  Vista,  so  as  to 
leave  a  space  of  scarcely  two  miles  between  them.  Assuming 
the  appearance  of  a  level  plain,  the  valley  extends  in  almost 
equal  width  some  fifteen  miles  farther  to  the  south,  to  Agua 
Nueva,  which  is  the  head  of  the  valley ;  and  directly  in  the 
space  between  the  ridges,  throwing  itself  boldly  up  into  the 
air,  and  almost  filling  up  the  valley,  stands  a  single  peak,  iso- 
lated and  pine-covered,  bounding  the  view,  and  frowning  stern- 
ly  down  upon  the  plain be\ow.    lmm^^\^\.^lY  to  the  south  opens 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  189 


the  Passo,  (of  Agua  Nueva,)  through  which  runs  the  road,  to 
San  Luis  de  Potosi ;  and  upon  the  west,  on  the  northern  side 
of  Agua  Nueva  mountain,  opens  another  pass,  through  which 
runs  the  road  to  Zacatecas  and  the  northern  States. 

Between,  and  at  about  equal  distances  from  these  two  open- 
ings, directly  at  the  foot  of,  and  almost  under  the  mountain, 
was  pitched  the  American  camp,  its  right  in  the  direction  of 
the  Zacatecas  road,  and  its  front  to  the  south.  The  ground 
was  perfectly  level,  crossed  here  and  there  by  small  irrigating 
canals ;  and  along  these  canals  was  almost  the  only  shrub  of 
bush  upon  the  plain.  There  was  plenty  of  ground,  and  the  camp 
was,  therefore,  widely  extended.  The  tents  of  the  different 
regiments  bore,  painted  in  black,  the  name  of  the  State  from 
which  they  came ;  and  at  the  quarters  of  each  colonel  fluttered 
the  regimental  colors.  The  tents,  flags,  and  accoutrements 
generally,  like  the  clothes  of  most  of  the  soldiers  who  were 
visible,  denoted  rough  service  in  a  foreign  land  ;  for  perhaps  an 
army  less  completely  supplied  with  clothing,  was  never  got  to- 
gether. The  arms,  however,  which  were  either  stacked  in  the 
company  streets,  or  stood  leaning  against  racks,  glistened  in  the 
evening  sun,  giving  evidence  of  strict  discipline  and  soldierly 
bearing ;  while  the  long  chain  of  sentinels,  covering,  at  least,  a 
square  mile  of  land,  paced  slowly  upon  their  posts,  and  seemed 
to  be  guarding  the  repose  of  the  camp  within.  The  sun,  even 
at  that  season,  was  very  warm ;  and,  consequently,  but  few  of 
the  men  were  visible  without  the  tents.  Could  the  eye  have 
penetrated  these  canvas  walls,  the  soldiers  would  have  been 
found  engaged  in  all  the  varieties  of  amusement  which  contri- 
bute to  pass  the  time,  among  which  dice  and  cards  would  bsiN^ 
been  found  to  bear  no  mean  rank.     Here  and  there  ^n  of&cei  m 


190  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


uniform  might  be  seen,  standing  at  the  door  of  a  teut,  or  walk- 
ing leisurely  along  the  lines ;  but  these  were  either  among 
those  who  pride  themselves  upon  their  embroidery,  or  those 
on  duty  for  the  day.  For  while  encamped  in  that  climate,  but 
few  care  to  be  studiously  dressed.  Little  groups  sat  around  the 
guard-tents,  or  hastily  paraded  now  and  then  at  the  approach 
of  a  superior  officer  ;  but  no  other  sign  of  bustle  or  excitement 
was  visible  throughout  the  encampment.  The  whole  scene 
wore  an  air  of  listless  repose,  amounting  to  inactivity;  and 
there  really  was  an  indiflference  which  would  have  been  dis- 
pelled could  they  have  known  what  was  passing  within  a  short 
day's  journey  of  their  guard-lines. 

The  regiment  to  which  the  course  of  our  story  leads  us,  was 
encamped  somewhere  between  the  extreme  right  and  extreme 
left — information  quite  sufficient  for  our  present  purpose,  and 
we  hope  equally  satisfactory  to  the  reader.  At  the  usual  dis- 
tance in  the  rear  of  the  line  of  tents  occupied  by  the  company 
officers,  were  the  regimental  headquarters.  A  large  and  remark- 
ably fine  marquee,  with  its  curtains  raised  and  festooned,  and  a 
small  pennon  flying  in  front,  was  fronted  by  another  smaller 
tent,  and  between  them  were  seated  three  or  four  officers.  We 
have  nothing  to  do  with  any  of  them  but  Lieut.-Colonel  Thorpe, 
and  we  will  therefore  pass  them  with  slight  ceremony.  Our 
acquaintance  was  listening  with  some  interest  to  a  conversation 
in  which  he  took  no  part,  wherein  the  adjutant  was  detailing 
what  he  had  seen  in  the  course  of  a  recent  reconnaissance. 

"  You -could  hear  nothing  of  Manning  and  Vernon  ?"  asked 
the  colonel  of  the  regiment. 

"  ^Nothing  definite,"  said  the  adjutant.     "  But  two  Americans 
were  seen  to  pass  along  the  i9\^m  \i^ioTi^  xJci^  ^%&%  c^t  Pinones,    j 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  191 


about  two  weeks  ago ;  and  from  the  description,  I  am  inclined 
to  think  it  must  have  been  they." 

"  They  are  probably. lost  before  now,  at  all  events." 

**  Perhaps  they  may  have  fallen  in  with  Major  Gaines*  party 
and  thus  been  taken  prisoners  with  him." 

"  I  scarcely  think  they  could  have  been  so  fortunate,"  said 
the  colonel ;  "  I  fear  they  have  been  murdered." 

"O,   they'll   turn  up   some  of  these  times,"   said   Thorpe.^ 
"  They  were  neither  of  them  men  to  get  themselves  caught 
easily." 

"  Well,"  said  the  colonel,  "  I  ho|  e  so,  but  I  fear  they  are 
lost." 

He  rose  as  he  spoke  and  passed  into  his  tent  followed  by  the 
adjutant.  Thorpe  i&ised  his  fine  figure  and  adjusting  his  sword 
belt,  walked  forward  towards  the  front  of  the  camp.  As  he 
left  the  line  of  tents  he  made  a  dight  sign  to  a  Mexican,  dressed 
as  a  vaqverOj  or  cow-herd,  who  had  walked  past  the  colonel's 
quarters  several  times,  during  the  foregoing  conversation.  The 
latter  seemed  not  to  notice  him,  but  immediately  started  off  in 
the  direction  of  the  front-guard  house,  and  soon  afterwards 
passed  out.  The  lieutenant-colonel,  who  was  Field-Officer  of 
the  day,  approached  the  guard,  had  it  paraded  and  dismissing 
it,  spoke  to  the  captain  in  command — 

"  What  Mexican  was  that  I  saw  pass  out  ?" 

"  One  of  the  quarter-master's  vaqueros^^*  replied  the  captain, 
*•  who  has  a  pass  signed  by  General  Wool." 

"Have  him  brought  back,"  said  the  colonel;  "or  stay!  I 
will  question  him  myself." 

So  saying  he  called  twice  or  thrice  to  the  Mexican,  following 
him  towards  the  mountain.     But  the  "  hombre^^  waVked  ow  \X)\ 


192  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


he  entered  the  chaparral  which  grows  thickly  here ;  when  look- 
ing back  to  ascertain  whether  he  could  be  seen  from  the  camp, 
he  turned  leisurely  round  and  waited  for  Thorpe  to  pome  up. 

**  Have  you  any  news  to  tell  me  ?"  asked  the  latter 

The  Mexican  made  the  usual  gesture  of  his  nation — shaking 
one  finger  in  front  of  his  face — and  replied,  "  nada^^'*  or  none. 

"  Why  are  you  here,  then  ?"  asked  Thorpe,  bending  his  cold 
eyes  upon  him,  with  an  expression  which  at  once  determined 
that  he  was  the  master,  the  Mexicai^  the  slave. 

<*  I  mean,  Sefior,"  said  the  Mexican  hastily,  ^^  that  I  cannot 
tell  you  what  you  wish  to  hear ;  but  I  can  tell  you  where  they 
are  to  be  found." 

"They?     Who?" 

"  The  two  men — the  lieutenant  and  the  other." 

"  Well,  go  on." 

"  They  escaped  us  by  some  means  on  the  plain  beyond  the 
Pass  of  Pinones,  and  for  a  day  or  two  we  could  not — " 

"I  know  all  that,"  interrupted  the  colonel;  "you  came  to 
camp  to  see  if  they  had  returned  ;  and  you  went  back  to  find 
them.     Tell  me  what  you  have  discovered." 

"  I  went  back,  he  continued,  "  but  could  not  find  Perez  and 
Rey,  who  were  searching  the  mountain  on  the  west." 

"  Have  you  found  them  yet  ?" 

"  No,  Sefior,"  he  replied,  "  and  I  think  they  must  have  been 
taken  by  some  scouting  party  of  General  Mifion." 

"  And  where  are  your  comrades?" 

"  They  are  all  gone  back  home.     Nobody  but  Perez  could 
keep  them  together,  especially  without  pay." 

"  And  you  only  continue  to  serve  me  in  the  hope  of  reward/' 
said  Thorpe  abruptly ;  "  1  uudetsVaitv^  xYvaX." 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  193 


**  O I  Sefior  I"  exclaimed  the  scoundrel,  as  if  injured  in  the 
point  nearest  to  his  heart — his  good  name — accompanying  the 
exclamation  with  extravagant  gesticulations,  expressive  of  fideli- 
ty, humility  and  injured  innocence. 

"  Well,  well,"  said  Thorpe  impatiently,  "  never  mind  yopr 
honor,  but  give  me  your  information.     Where  are  they  V 

^'  In  the  mountain,"  replied  his  agent,  at  once  resuming  his 
air  of  quiet  inferiority.  ^'  I  searched  the  mountains  for  miles 
upon  miles,  going  from  the  plain  to  the  peaks — O !  numberless 
times ! — " 

"  And  at  last  you  found  them?" again  interrupted  Thorpe. 

*^  Sij  Senary  I  at  last  found  a  ranche  hid  in  a  ravine,  where 
I  suspected  they  were  hidden.  I  watched  it  several  days,  and 
at  last  discovered  the  lieutenant  walking  out  with  the  daughter 
of  the  rancher Oy  on  the  mountain." 

"  Why  did  you  not  shoot  him  at  once  ?" 

"  Because,  Sefior,  I  could  not  trust  my  gun  so  far ;  and  you 
know,  if  I  had  missed  my  aim — " 

^^I  understand,"  said  Morris;  '^if  you  had  missed  him^  he 
might  not  have  missed  you.     But  how  far  off  were  you  ?" 

"  O  !  a  long  way  I  too  far  to  shoot  with  certainty." 

*^  You  might  say  that  if  you  were  within  ten  paces." 

The  man  shook  his  finger  again,  and  commenced  a  very  volu- 
ble panegyric  upon  his  steady  hand  and  unerring  aim ;  but 
Thorpe  cut  him  short — 

"  Come,"  said  he,  "  no  boasting ;  but  tell  me  what  you  did." 

^^  I  watched  him  until  he  went  back,  trying  all  the  time  to  get 

closer,  but  without  success.     When  they  turned  their  backs,  I 

was  afraid  to  shoot  for  fear  of  killing  the  girl  instead  of  him  ; 

and«o  I  waited  for  another  chance," 
9 


194 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


**  Were  they  so  close  together,  then  ?"  asked  Thorpe,  smiling. 

"  Each  had  an  arm  around  the  other,"  said  the  Mexican, "  so 
of  course  I  could  not  fire  without  danger  to  her." 

**If  you  could  have  killed  them  both  at  one  shot,"  said 
Thorpe  with  a  sneer,  "  I  presume  her  death  would  not  have 
troubled  you  much." 

^^  His  death  might  have  consoled  me  for  hers,"  said  the 
villain.     "  But  I  was  too  far  off  at  any  rate." 

"And  why  are  you  here  now  ?" 

"  Your  Excellency  is  so  impatient/'  said  the  fellow. 

"  Don't  Excellency  me,"  said  Thorpe,  sternly ;  "  but  tell  your 
story  straightforward  and  at  once :  and  let  it  be  true,  or  I  will 
have  you  hung  to  the  first  misquit  high  enough  to  stretch  you." 

The  fellow  cowered  humbly  and  went  on. 

"  I  came  on  this  side  of  the  pass  to  get  provisions,  and  went 
back  to  watch  again.  On  the  second  day,  I  got  close  in  upon 
the  house  and  watched  it  for  several  hours.  I  saw  no  one  but 
an  old  man  and  the  young  girl  until  nearly  sunset ;  when  the 
lieutenant  came  out  from  under  the  arbor,  supporting  Sefior 
Vernon,  who  looked  very  pale,  and  walked  feebly  and  with 
great  difficulty." 

"  What's'the  matter  with  him?"  asked  Thorpe. 

«*  He  seems  to  have  been  sick,"  said  the  fellow,  «  and  he  had 
one  arm  in  a  sling.  I  told  you  before  how  his  horse  had  fallen 
when  we  supposed  they  had  both  rode  the  lieutenant's  horse. 
"^ell,  J  suppose  he  must  have  had  his  arm  broken  then." 

**  This  explains  Manning's  not  returning  to  camp,"  said 
Thorpe. 

"  After  walking  several  times  up  and  down  the  rock,"  con- 
tinued  the  fellow,  "  they  ipeluxne^  tp  the  house  and  I  saw  them 


no  more/* 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  195 


«« And  what  is  the  reason  you  did  not  shoot  him  this  time  ?" 

"  For  the  same  reason  as  before,"  said  the  fellow,  "  too  far 
off;  and,  besides,  I  could  not  have  got  them  both." 

"  I  care  nothing  about  the  other,"  said  Thorpe,  abruptly. 
**  If  Manning  is  out  of  the  way,  the  other  cannot  trouble  me." 

"  I  came  away  the  same  night,"  the  Mexican  went  on,  "  to 
get  assistance.  There  is  no  danger  of  their  going  away  from 
there ;  for  Sejlor  Vernon  does  not  look  as  if  he  would  be  able  to 
move  for  a  month." 

Thorpe  cast  his  eyes  upon  the  ground  and  mused  for  several 
minutes,  the  Mexican  waiting  patiently  for  him  to  speak.  The 
deepest  thinkers  in  the  world  are  the  greatest  villains ;  and  it  is 
only  because  villainy  and  success  are  not  coupled  in  the  nature 
of  things,  that  their  combinations  are  so  often  brokeli. 

**  Well,"  said  he,  raising  his  eyes  at  last,  "  I  suppose  it  18 
useless  to  expect  you  to  do  this  business  alone.  Don't  inter- 
rupt me — ^I  know  all  you  would  say  in  justification  of  your 
cowardice.  And  you  must,  therefore,  have  assistance.  Hire 
four  men — ^men,  mind,  that  you  can  trust ;  take  them  with  you, 
make  what  bargain  you  choose,  and  when  you  satisfy  me  that 
Manning  is  dead,  you  shall  have  five  hundred  dollars.  But, 
remember,  my  name  is  not  to  be  given  to  these  men — no,  not 
even  thought  of,  until  you  come  for  your  reward.  Vernon  you 
need  not  touch,  unless  it  become  necessary  in  order  to  the  death 
of  the  other.  And  now,  let  me  see  you  no  more  until  it  is 
done." 

He  turned  as  he  spoke  the  last  words,  and  without  looking 
round,  walked  leisurely  towards  the  guard-house.  The  Mexican 
stood  gazing  after  him  until  he  disappeared ;  and  then  going 
further  into  the  thicket,  brought  out  »  horse,  mounted  him,  aA4 
rode  rapidly  away. 


196  TALBOT  AND  YERNON. 


Thorpe's  anxiety  to  dispatch  Hugh,  though  it  may  surprise 
the  reader,  was  very  easily  explained.  In  a  fit  of  spleen,  (such 
as  citizen  soldiers  often  indulge  in  while  being  brought  into  the 
harness  of  discipline,)  caused  by  some  arbitrary  order  of  his 
superior,  Hugh  had  been  impudent  enough  to  say  that  if  Lieut.- 
Colonel  Thorpe  knew  all  the  information  that  he,  Hugh,  was 
possessed  of,  he  would  be  a  little  more  careful  in  his  tone. 
This  happened  to  be  spoken  in  the  presence  of  one  of  those 
sycophants  so  common  in  volunteer  corps,  and  was  carried 
forthwith  to  the  ears  of  the  party  interested.  The  talebearer 
had  been  set  to  pump  Hugh ;  and  though  all  he  could  get  were 
certain  dark  insinuations  about  "  closets,"  and  "  doors  ajar," 
these  were  quite  sufficient  for  Thorpe's  quick  penetrating  intel- 
lect. He  at  once  recollected  bearing  Vernon  say  that  Hugh 
was  to  remodel  the  closet  in  his  room ;  and,  at  the  same  in- 
stant, he  came  to  the  conclusion  that  Hugh  had  been  a  witness 
of  his  villainy.  With  such  a  man  as  Thorpe,  this  was  suffi- 
cient ;  he  immediately  resolved  upon  Hugh's  death ;  and  they 
were  his  agents  who  had  pursued  them  on  the  plain,  as  we 
have  seen. 


CHAPTER    IX. 

*^  Lore,  well  thou  knowest,  no  partnership  allowi."— PaioB. 

^"  All  in  a  moment,  through  the  gloom  were  seen, 
Ten  thousand  banners  rise  into  the  air. 
With  orient  colors  waving  :  with  them  rose 
A  forest  huge  of  spears  and  thronging  helms.''— -PAaAnus  Lost. 

**  Behold  in  awful  march  and  dread  array, 
The  long-extended  squadrons  shape  their  way." — ^Addison. 

Above  Bonaro's  cottage,  (to  which  we  will  trouble  the 
reader  to  return  with  us,)  almost  directly  over  it,  there  grew 
out  of  the  cleft  of  the  rock  a  stunted  plantain  tree,  very  little 
higher  than  a  tall  man,  but  spreading  its  enormous  leaves 
around  its  wind-blasted  trunk,  and  forming  thus  a  deep  shade. 
Beneath  its  foliage  the  rock  sloped  towards  the  south  a  few 
feet,  and  then  fell  suddenly  four  fathoms,  to  the  level  over 
which  the  fountain  flowed  down  upon  the  terrace  below.  At 
the  foot  of  this  tree,  lay  a  large,  loose  rock,  originally  intended 
for  the  masonry  of  the  house  below  ;  but  it  had  not  been  used 
for  that  purpose,  and  had  now  lain  for  nearly  twenty  years  in 
the  same  position.  Its  surface  was  covered  with  moss,  running 
over  it  in  every  conceivable  shape  of  entanglement,  and  hang- 
iug  in  gay  little  fringes  and  festoons  from  the  ^dges  and  corners. 
A  species  of  ivy,  too,  which  grows  luxuriantly  among  these 
mountains,  had  mingled  its  dark  leaves  and  bright  tendrils 
among  the  moss ;  and  more  ambitious  or  more  affecliotiAX^  >Xaxl 


198  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


the  latter,  had  climbed  the  trunk  of  the  plantain  two  or  three 
feet,  apparently  endeavoring  to  shelter  it  from  the  bleak  moun- 
tain air.  It  had,  however,  seemingly  abandoned  its  loving  pur- 
pose at  that  height,  and  drooped  in  wreaths  and  waving 
masses  back  upon  the  ground.  The  large  stone  was  thus  con- 
verted into  a  cushioned  seat,  large  enough  for  two  or  three 
persons ;  and  the  foliage  of  the  plantain  spread  above  to  pro- 
tect them  from  the  sun,  with  its  deep  green  canopy. 

Late  in  the  afternoon,  about  three  days  after  Thorpe's  inter- 
view with  the  Mexican,  Hugh  and  Catharina  sat  upon  this 
stone.  They  were  conversing  earnestly,  though  at  intervals, 
during  which  they  gazed  abstractedly  towards  the  plain,  of 
which  their  position  commanded  a  full  view.  Beneath,  on  the 
terrace  in  front  of  the  house,  sat  Allen  and  old  Bonaro — the 
former  pale  and  emaciated,  though  evidently  convalescent. 
They  were  conversing,  also,  at  broken  intervals,  of  the  merits 
of  the  contest  between  the  two  countries  at  war ;  but  their 
conversation  is  not  material  to  our  story. 

"  When  do  you  think  of  leaving  us  ?"  asked  Catharina,  after 
a  pause  of  several  minutes*  duration. 

"  As  soon  as  Allen  is  well  enough  to  travel/'  said  Hugh.  "  I 
wish  I  could  persuade  your  father  to  go  to  Saltillo." 

"  If  he  left  this  place,"  said  she,  "  he  would  not  stop  this  side 
of  Monterey  ;  and  we  would  be  farther  apart  than  ever." 

"  O  no  !"  said  Hugh.  "If  you  were  there  I  could  see  you 
oftener  than  I  can  here ;  and  besides  that  will  be  on  our  road 
home.  You  could  meet  me  there  and  go  with  me  better  thau 
from  here." 

"  You  forget,"  she  said  smiling ;  "  I  have  not  yet  consented 
to  go  with  you,  at  all." 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  199 


*^  True,"  said  Hugh,  "  but  you  vyUl  consent.  Your  excuse 
of  not  understanding  English  well  enough,  is  no  longer  ad- 
missible." 

"  But  you  may  not  want  me,"  said  she,  gravely.  "  You  Know 
I  told  you  I  had  something  to  say,  before  I  gave  a  final  con- 
sent ;  and  that  may  change  your  wishes." 

"  No  fear  of  that,  no  fear  of  that !"  said  Hugh  hastily.  "  Let 
me  hear  it  now,  and  before  an  hour  we  will  be  pledged  for  life." 

"  Be  not  too  sanguine,"  she  said  calmly ;  "  for  if  you  should 
change,  it  will  be  only  the  more  painful  to  us  both." 

"  Let  me  hear  it,  then,"  said  he,  "  if  I  must  hear  it ;  and  you 
shall  soon  see  how  easily  I  am  changed." 

«  Very  well,  Seflor,"  she  replied ;  "  then  listen,  and  do  not 
interrupt  me  until  I  have  told  all.  I  have  already  related  the 
larger  part  of  my  history ;  indeed  all  of  it,  except  this  one  pas- 
ibage.  In  my  language  to  you  since  we  met,  you  think, — and 
justly,  too,  for  I  will  not  disguise  it,  now, — ^that  you  have  assur- 
ance of  a  more  than  ordinary  interest  which  I  feel  for  you. 
You  assumed  the  fact,  however,  before  it  was  so ;  for  I  must 
tell  you  that  the  feeling  has  grown  upon  me  gradually,  almost 
imperceptibly,  as  I  each  day  detected,  or  thought  I  detected, 
traits  and  feelings  and  sentiments  which  are  of  interest  to  me 
for  the  reasons  I  am  going  to  state.  You  thinks  no  doubt — all 
lovers  do— that  this  feeling  of  interest  is  one  entirely  new  to  my 
heart,  that  no  similar  sentiment  has  ever  agitated  it,  and  that 
you  are  therefore  in  possession  of  the  first  gushing  tenderness  of 
my  youth.     But  this  is  not  precisely  true." 

"  What!"  exclaimed  Hugh,  raising  himself  from  his  reclining 
posture. 

**  You  must  not  interrupt  me/'  she  said,  drawing  Yi\m  ^^dXV^ 


200  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 

down ;  **  let  me  finish  my  story.  I  have  loved,  or,  at  least, 
I  have  been  deeply  interested,  before — though  purely  and 
briefly.  I  am  among  those  who  believe  that  one  may  so  love 
more  than  once.  We  are  interested  in  the  objects  of  our  affec- 
tions, by  certain  qualities  which  either  they  possess  or  we 
imagine  they  possess.  Sometimes  we  love  for  external 
.  appearances,  forms  or  features ;  but  it  is  only  because  of  an 
instinctive  impression  we  have,  that  the  qualities  we  love  and 
admire  are  indicated  by  those  external  things.  The  love  we 
conceive  is,  therefore,  a  feeling  which  exists  in,  and  is  a  part  of, 
ourselves;  which  may  exist,  and  does  exist,  long  after  the 
personal  object  is  withdrawn.  It  will  be  dormant,  because  the 
object  is  not  near  to  call  it  out ;  but  it  will  be  not  the  less  a 
feeling;  because  it  is  an  admiration  or  affection  for  certain 
traits  or  qualities  with  which  we  sympathize,  and  which  we 
may  love  independently  of  their  material  embodiment.  After 
the  withdrawal  of  the  first  object,  then,  let  another  object  be 
presented,  who  either  possesses,  or  who  we  imagine  possesses, 
the  qualities  we  love  :  our  affections  will  go  forth  again  upon 
this  new  object,  as  warmly  and  as  purely  as  upon  the  first 
Nay,  even  more  warmly ;  because,  having  been  once  called  into 
activity  and  then  smothered,  the  feeling  will  gain  force  by  re- 
straint, as  the  waters  do  while  dammed  up ;  and  when  the 
gates  are  opened  again,  the  flood  will  come  with  accelerated 
speed  and  increased  violence. 

"  Now  this  is  precisely  the  case  with  me. 

"  I  believe  I  have  told  you  that  my  mother  was  from  the 

United  States,  where  my  father  met  her  and  married  her.     I  do 

not  recollect  her,  as  I  have  said  before  ;   but  my  mind  has  been 

Jed,  by  my  father's  conversaXlori,  \.o  dw^lV  with  almost  exclusive 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  201 


interest  upon  everything  relating  to  your  republic.  No  stronger 
claim  upon  my  sympathies  could  be  presented  than  belonging 
to  the  country  of  my  mother — the  people  of  no  other  nation,  if 
they  came  as  invaders,  could  induce  me  to  hold  the  least  com- 
munication with  them.  In  all  my  reflections  about  men  and 
their  national  character  and  national  histories,  the  Americans 
have  been  excepted  from  every  general  rule,  to  be  thought  of 
alone,  as  a  people  for  whom  there  is  no  parallel.  When  your 
army  arrived  in  our  country,  my  father  retired  before  it,  but  it 
w^as  not  from  hatred  or  fear,  but  to  avoid  an  unjust  suspicion. 
Like  him,  I  sometimes  think  I  do  not  properly  resent  your  inva- 
sion ;  but  if  it  be  so,  I  cannot  help  it ;  nay,  I  do  not  even  regret  it. 
•*  If,  then,  even  when  you  come  upon  my  native  soil  as  ene- 
mies, I  cannot  properly  resent  it,  you  can  imagine  of  how  much 
more  interest  to  me  an  American  must  have  been,  when  he 
came  only  upon  a  peaceful  visit,  and  came  recommended  also 
as  a  relative  of  my  mother.  He  was  handsome,  generous  and 
noble — combining,  too  with  his  moral  excellence  a  fine  and 
thoroughly-developed  intellect.  He  was  brave,  even  to  rash- 
ness, free  and  open  in  his  bearing,  delicate  and  considerate  in 
his  feelings.  He  came  to  our  house  in  Monterey,  stayed  with 
us  two  or  three  months,  and  then  accompanied  us  during  the 
summer  months,  to  my  father's  hacienda,  south  of  the  city.  It 
was  here  that  I  first  began  to  feel  interested  in  him.  We  were 
constantly  together,  either  riding  along  the  valleys  or  climbing 
the  mountains,  and  spending  whole  days  among  the  cliffs  and 
forests.  I  had  never  before  been  intimate  with  one  of  the  other 
sex,  and  it  was  but  natural  that  my  feelings  should  become 
interested  in  one  like  him,  in  the  position  we  occupied.      It 

would  be  an  ungrateful  task  for  you  to  listen  to  me  xe\^\,e  \\o^ 

9* 


209  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 

much  I  felt  for  him,  or  how  happy  I  was  in  his  society ;  though, 
I  doubt  not,  the  recollection  of  that  happiness  was  made  more 
tender,  by  its  tragical  termination.     I  will  hurry  on. 

'<  We  had  been  two  months  at  Kinconada,  during  which  we 
had  explored  every  sheltered  valley  and  climbed  every  mountain 
peak,  within  ten  miles  of  us.  There  was  but  one  place  of  in- 
terest we  had  not  visited.  It  was  a  waterfall,  where  a  narrow 
stream,  during  the  wet  season,  sprang  boldly  over  the  side  of  a 
cliff  and  was  dissipated  into  mist  and  rain  ere  it  reached  the 
rocks  at  a  great  depth  below.  We  had  been  waiting  for  a  rain 
to  add  to  the  waters,  so  as  to  make  the  cascade  -worth  visiting ; 
and  at  last  one  Sunday  evening  brought  a  heavy  storm.  Early 
on  Monday  morning  we  set  out,  with  no  attendants  except  our 
peon  boy,  who  carried  a  pic-nic  dinner  for  us. 

"  We  reached  the  flat  rock  beside  the  stream  about  twelve 
o'clock,  where  the  foaming  torrent  poured  over  with  its  swol- 
len current,  and  dashed  down  through  mid  air  full  two  hundred 
feet.  We  sat  down  upon  the  sod  under  the  shade  of  a  cedar  to 
view  the  fall,  and  to  open  Diego's  basket.  Up  to  this  time  no 
explanation  had  passed  between  us  in  regard  to  our  mutual 
feelings  ;  but  I  think  T  am  not  wrong  when  I  say  each  under- 
stood the  other.  We  had  been  seated  thus,  after  our  repast,  for 
several  minutes  in  silence ;  but  1  thought  I  saw  in  his  looks  and 
in  his  actions,  that  a  declaration  was  trembling  upon  his  lips. 
Indeed  he  bad  begun  to  speak  in  tones  which  I  could  not  rms- 
understand,  when  a  flower  attracted  his  eyes,  growing  upon  the 
very  edge  of  the  cliff"  and  just  within  the  water.  He  approached 
it  hastily  and  stooped  to  take  it,  when  his  foot  slipped  upon  the 
wet  rock  and  at  one  plunge  he  went  headlong  over  the  frightful 
cliff. " 


TALBOT  AND  VEBNON.  203 


She  covered  her  eyes  with  her  hands,  as  if  in  recollection  of 
the  scene  ;  but  in  a  moment  she  recovered  and  went  on. 

**  He  was  dashed  to  pieces  upon  the  rocks  below.  I  ran  to 
the  edge  of  the  rock  to  look  over,  but  was  pulled  violently  back 
by  Diego.  I  will  not  dwell  upon  the  details  nor  upon  my  grief, 
made  deeper,  as  it  were,  by  the  circumstances,  than  perhaps  it 
would  have  been  in  others ;  they  are  painful  to  recall,  and 
would  not  be  pleasant  for  you  to  hear.  He  was  buried  at  Rin- 
conada,  and  since  that  day  I  have  not  visited  ihe  place.  It  is 
now  more  than  two  years  since,  and  I  am  young ;  I  soon  re- 
covered my  tranquillity  and  ultimately  my  cheerfulness.  But 
since  then  an  affection  deep  and  warm  for  the  noble  traits  I 
found  in  him,  though  I  cannot  say  that  it  was  ever  matured  for 
him  personally,  noble  as  he  was,  has  lain  dormant  in  my  heart. 
Time  passed  and  I  met  you.  In  you  I  found  the  qualities  I  ad- 
mired in  him.  My  heart  became  interested,  though  it  is  only 
within  a  few  days  that  I  have  become  certain  that  I  love  you. 
If  I  did  not  remember  him  with  regret,  you  could  have  no  as- 
surance that  I  will  not  forget  my  love  for  you  as  soon. 

"  You  now  know  my  whole  history.  Before  I  say  more  I 
n-ust  know  whether  that  knowledge  aflfects  your  feelings.*' 

**  And  yet,*'  said  Hugh,  placing  his  arm  around  her  waist, 
"  when  you  ask,  you  know  perfectly  well,  it  does  not." 

'*  I  think  so,"  said  she,  **  but  T  must  have  the  assurance  from 
your  own  lips." 

"  Then  take  it,"  said  he,  pressing  his  lips  suddenly  to  hers. 
"  I  love  you  not  only  as  much,  but  more,  than  before,  for  your 
truth  and  candor." 

"Yet,"  she  said,  "  that  very  candor,  while  it  makes  you  love 
me  more,  as  I  am,  may  still  make  it  impolitic  that  you  make  me 
other  than  lam. " 


204  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


"  You  mean  my  wife  V*  said  he  inquiringly.  **  It  could  not 
be  80.  I  love  you  more,  if  possible,  than  before,  and  I  am 
therefore  more  anxious  to  make  you  mine." 

«*  And  when  do  you  wish  me  to  be  so  ?** 

"  As  soon  as  you  will  consent  to  it,"  said  he  ;  "  or  at  least  as 
soon  as  my  term  of  service  shall  be  out." 

"  When  is  that  ?" 

*<  On  the  last  day  of  May  next.  I  shall  then  return  home, 
and  will  take  you  with  me." 

"  That  is,"  said  she  smiling,  "  if  I  will  go." 

"Oil  know  you  will  go !     Will  you  not  ?" 

"  But  you  may  be  killed  in  the  meantime,"  she  pursued. 

"  In  that  case,"  said  Hugh  laughing,  "I  shall  not  go;  nor 
you,  either.  But  there  is  no  fear  of  that,  if  you  will  only  say 
you  will  go." 

"  Well,  well,"  said  she,  as  if  impatient  to  be  rid  of  the  sub- 
ject, "  I  will  go." 

Hugh  clasped  her  in  his  arms  and  pressed  his  lips  again  to 
hers. 

"  Come,  come,"  she  said,  "  that  is  enough  for  to-day.  And 
now  let  us  see  what  that  great  dust  is  upon  the  road  yonder.  It 
looks  like  an  army  to  me.'* 

Hugh  took  up  the  glass  which  lay  upon  the  ground  beside 
him,  and  directed  it  where  she  pointed. 

"They  are  lancers!"  he  exclaimed.  "And  yonder  follows 
some  infantry,  and  there  is  artillery  too  !  A  long  line  of  lancers 
again,  and  more  infantry  and  artillery  !  And  there  are  mules, 
too,  pack  mules,  and  droves  of  cattle,  and  away  in  the  dis- 
tance seems  another  large  body  of  lancers !  Why  this  must  be 
Santa  Anna  in  full  force  '." 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  205 


He  ran  the  glass  several  times  up  and  down  the  long  line  of 
dust,  which  extended  from  a  point  nearly  opposite  to  where  he 
sat,  full  twelve  miles  away  upon  the  plain.  The  glittering 
lance-heads,  with  their  fluttering  pennons  of  variegated  hues, 
the  masses  of  horses  and  riders  just  visible  in  the  dust,  the  long 
columns  of  infantry  with  their  muskets  shining  in  the  evening 
sun,  the  heavy  guns  tied  on  the  backs  of  mules,  or  trundled 
along  on  clumsy  carriages,  the  numberless  pack  mules,  the  masses 
of  men  of  all  arms  in  the  distance,  and  the  numerous  banners 
and  colors  of  corps,  all  denoted  the  march  of  a  strong  army. 
Staff  officers  and  orderlies  were  seen  galloping  from  corps  to 
corps,  or  halting  on  the  road  for  some  regiment  or  brigade  to  ap- 
proach ;  and  near  the  centre  of  the  column  rode  a  group  of  offi- 
cers in  brilliant  uniforms,  and  shining  accoutrements,  denoting 
the  general  and  his  staff.  It  was  indeed  **  Santa  Anna  in  full 
force,"  with  more  than  twenty  thousand  men,  marching  to 
crush  the  handful  of  volunteers,  then  lying  at  Agua  Nueva  un- 
der General  Taylor. 

"  Who  are  these  ?"  said  Catharina  suddenly,  *'  herjB  to  the 
left,"  pointing  in  the  direction  named.  Hugh  turned  the  glass 
and  after  gazing  a  moment  sprang  to  his  feet. 

"  They  are  approaching  by  the  path,"  he  said,  "  and  are  led 
by  some  one  who  knows  the  road  !  It  is  time  to  put  our  design 
in  force." 

So  saying,  he  sprang  down  the  rock  and  in  less  than  a 
minute  stood  beside  the  bridge  over  the  chasm.  Parting  the 
bushes  he  stepped  in  to  the  brink  of  the  ravine,  and  lifted  a 
stout  wooden  bar  which  lay  with  one  end  sharpened,  ready  for 
use.  Thrusting  the  sharp  end  between  the  rocks  which  sup- 
ported the  bridge,  and  using  the  edge  of  another  lock  ^&  iBk  ixxl 


206  TALBOT  AND  VBRNON. 


crum,  he  gave  the  lever  a  sudden  pull  towards  him.  The  flat 
rock  moved  and  a  seam  opened  across  the  bridge ;  another  pull 
and  the  rock  gradually  loosened.  Falling  over  to  one  side  the 
bridge  lost  its  support,  and  tumbled,  a  mass  of  rocks,  bushes  and 
earth,  to  the  bottom  of  the  chasm.  By  this  means  the  house 
was  perfectly  isolated,  with  only  the  secret  outlet  for  approach. 
"  Let  them  cross  that  if  they  can,"  said  Hugh ;  and  he  threw 
the  bar  down  the  chasm  and  they  both  hastened  out  of  view. 


CHAPTER    X. 

**  I  do  suspect  you,  Madam, 
But  jou  shall  do  no  harm." — Ctmbbline. 

**  The  enemy's  in  view,  draw  up  your  powers.''— Lsiix 

*'  Be  not  dismayed  ;  fear  nurses  up  a  danger, 
And  resolution  kills  it  in  the  birth."— Phillips. 

When  Catharina  and  Hugh  reached  the  terrace,  they  found 
the  old  man  and  Allen  sitting  calmly  in  front  of  the  house,  and 
Ignacio  preparing  a  lariat  at  the  lower  end  of  the  arbor.  He 
had  come  in  two  days  before ;  and  having  been  detained  by 
Bonaro,  he  had  fortunately  taken  the  precaution  to  bring  his 
mule  round,  and  leave  her  in  the  ravine  below  the  house. 
Marola  "^as,  as  usual,  within,  seeming  to  have  little  sympathy 
with  anything  external. 

Catharina  hastily  communicated  what  they  had  seen  and 
done  above,  and  a  council  was  immediately  lield  to  determine 
upon  the  measures  best  to  be  taken.  Allen  was  growing  strong 
again,  so  that  he  was  quite  able  to  move,  if  it  were  decided  to 
take  that  course.  The  bridge  being  broken  down,  no  imme- 
diate danger  was  to  be  apprehended,  unless  the  attacking  party 
were  strong  enough  to  storm  the  place  by  the  path  from  below. 
This  was,  however,  difficult,  and  without  assistance  from  above, 
inaccessible,  if  properly  defended.  But  Bonaro  wished,  above 
all  things,  to  avoid  strife,  and  was,  therefore,  for  flight  as  soon 


208  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 

as  it  should  become  known  that  the  men  came  with  hostile  in- 
tent. Of  this  there  could  be  but  little  doubt ;  for  Hugh  had 
managed)  in  the  course  of  the  two  or  three  weeks  during  which 
he  had  fed  his  two  prisoners,  to  worm  out  of  them  the  facts — 
first,  that  they  were  induced  to  make  their  attempt  by  some  one 
in  the  American  army,  whose  name  they  would  not  disclose, 
though  he  had  no  difficulty  in  divining  who  he  was ;  second, 
that  it  was  known  to  them  that  he  and  Allen  had  not  escaped 
to  the  camp ;  and  third,  that  they  had  confederates,  whose 
orders  were  to  search  the  mountain  in  every  direction. 

Added  to  the  stealthy  manner  in  which  the  men  were  ap- 
proaching, these  facts  left  little  room  for  doubt  that  they  were 
the  confederates  spoken  of ;  and  the  number  of  stragglers  gene- 
rally following  a  force  so  large  as  they  had  seen  marching  by, 
convinced  Hugh  that  if  their  enemies  needed  assistance,  they 
would  have  little  difficulty  in  finding  it.  The  sight  of  the 
Mexican  army,  too,  made  him  extremely  anxious  to  return  to 
his  regiment.  He  was,  therefore,  for  flight  also  ;  and  this 
course  was  at  once  decided  upon. 

Two  difficulties  arose.  First,  how  were  they  to  procure  the 
means  of  travelling  ?  The  mule  of  Ignacio  was  the  only  ani- 
mal they  possessed,  and  they  had  to  travel  by  a  circuitous 
route,  to  avoid  the  army.  It  was  full  forty  miles  around  the 
mountain  to  the  Pass  of  Palomas,  on  the  east  of  Saltillo— a  dis- 
tance too  long  to  be  undertaken  either  by  Catharina  or  by  Allen. 
To  attempt  to  obviate  this  difficulty,  it  was  agreed  that  Ignacio 
should  proceed  forthwith  to  the  plain,  and  endeavor  to  buy 
norses  or  mules  from  the  traders  in  the  rear  of  the  army,  or  to 
seize  whatever  animals  he  might  find  at  large.  This  was  by 
no  means  so  hopeless  a  scYveiue  ^^  vt  would  appear ;  for  in 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  209 


Santa  Anna's  haste,  and  following  his  line  of  march,  there 
■were  quite  as  many  horses  as  men,  besides  a  large  number  of 
mules. 

Ignacio  immediately  set  out  by  the  secret  path  down  the  bed 
of  the  smaller  ravine,  and  the  party  turned  their  attention  to 
the  second  difficulty — how  to  dispose  of  their  prisoners?  It 
was  soon  agreed  that  Marola  should  be  taken  with  them  to 
the  plain,  and  then  sent  back  to  release  them.  No  notice  had 
been  taken  of  her  treachery,  if  so  it  might  be  called,  from  a 
half-consciousness  the  old  man  had,  that  she  had  only  acted  in 
accordance  with  her  instincts  of  patriotism — ^a  feeling  which 
he  was  the  less  disposed  to  punish,  because  he  did  not  possess 
it  himself. 

Having  decided  upon  these  points,  and  agreed  upon  a 
time  for  Ignacio's  return,  Catharina  went  with  him  to  draw  up 
the  rough,  raw-hide  ladder,  used  to  pass  the  cliff  at  the  end  of 
the  smaller  ravine  ;  and  Hugh  armed  himself  carefully,  and  re- 
paired to  the  top  of  the  rock,  to  watch  the  approach  of  their 
enemies.  Climbing  the  path  so  often  mentioned,  he  concealed 
himself  in  the  chaparral,  and  arranged  a  place  through  which 
to  get  a  view.  Seating  himself  upon  a  large,  round  stone,  he 
carefully  examined  the  lock  of  his  rifle,  and  then  betook  him- 
self to  his  duty  of  watching.  An  hour  passed  away,  and  no 
sign  of  the  presence  of  any  one  but  himself  met  eye  or  ear. 
The  sun  had  disappeared  behind  the  mountains,  and  the 
short  twilight  of  those  latitudes  was  fast  closing  the  view. 
There  was,  however,  yet  light  enough  to  enable  him  to  see 
objects  at  a  considerable  distance.  Sitting  hidden  in  the  bushes, 
even  to  one  whose  thoughts  were  as  fully  occupied  as  were  his, 
was  no  very  interesting  employment  to  such  a  man  as  "Rw^  \ 


210  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 

and  the  impatience  of  his  temper  began  now  to  appear.  He 
rose  to  his  feet,  and  endeavored  to  get  a  wider  view  ;  but  the 
bushes  obstructed  his  sight.  He  then  stepped  out  upon  the 
rock,  and  had  the  rashness  even  to  approach  the  place  where 
the  bridge  had  stood.  A  flash  and  a  loud  report  came  suddenly 
from  the  thicket,  not  thirty  yards  from  him  ;  and  a  musket  ball 
whizzed  past  his  ear,  so  closely  as  to  make  him  spring  suddenly 
to  one  side.  Quick  as  thought,  however,  he  fired  his  piece  into 
the  bush,  and  an  arm  thrown  suddenly  up,  and  a  heavy  fall, 
seemed  to  indicate  that  his  shot  had  told.  At  the  same  mo- 
ment a  tall  Mexican  sprang  from  the  bushes  and  ran  forward  to 
the  very  brink  of  the  chasm,  leveling  and  firing  an  escopet  so 
near  as  almost  to  burn  him  with  the  powder.  Hugh's  cap 
sprang  off  his  head,  almost  cut  in  two,  but  he  was  not  w^ounded. 
As  the  assassin  sprang  to  regain  the  thicket,  Hugh  fired  his 
pistol  at  him ;  but  the  haste  and  darkness  saved  the  latter,  as 
they  had  just  saved  the  former.  Hugh  gained  the  chaparral 
about  the  same  moment  with  his  antagonist,  and  immediately 
loaded  his  rifie. 

''Keep  back  out  of  range!"  he  called  out  to  his  friends 
whom  he  now  heard  rushing  up  to  the  brink.  "  We  are  safe 
enough  for  the  present — they  cannot  cross  the  ravine.** 

He  waited  a  few  minutes,  until  the  increasing  darkness  en- 
abled him  to  go  down  unperceived,  when  he  hastily  returned 
to  the  house,  and  walked  straight  to  the  door  within  which  he 
had  confined  his  prisoners.  He  drew  the  bolt  hastily  back,  and 
threw  the  door  wide  open  :  seizing  a  torch,  he  stepped  in,  and 
found  the  room  as  he  had  expected — empty. 

"  The  scoundrel  who  fired  the  escopet  at  me,**  said  he,  "  was 
that  yeliow-skinned  catt\e-lYi\ei \  Wnew  \iva!L^t  ai  glance." 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  211 


"  How  could  they  have  escaped  ?'*  said  old  Bonaro. 

"  Where  is  Marola  ?"  asked  Allen,  suddenly. 

"  Here  she  is,"  said  Catharina,  who  had  run  for  her  as  soon 
as  she  saw  what  had  happened. 

The  woman  came  forward,  led  by  her  young  mistress,  with 
that  look  of  astonished  ignorance  so  easily  assumed  by  the 
lower  classes  of  her  race.  To  all  Bonaro's  fierce  iquestions,  she 
returned  for  answer  only  a  shake  of  her  head  and  a  reiterated 
denial  that  she  knew  aught  of  the  matter.  It  was,  however, 
plain  that  she  knew  more  than  she  pretended  ;  and  there  was 
even  a  kind  of  triumph  in  the  twinkle  of  her  small  black  eye, 
only  repressed  by  the  fear  that  Hugh  would  execute  his  threat, 
to  throw  her  over  the  precipice  in  front  of  the  house.  This 
could  not  be  long  borne.  Bonaro  seized  her  roughly  by  the 
arm  and  thrusting  her  into  the  empty  room,  drew  the  door  to 
and  bolted  it. 

"  What's  to  be  done  now  ?"  said  Allen  laughing  with  Hugh, 
whom  the  most  pressing  danger  could  never  restrain. 

"  First,"  said  Hugh,  "  I  am  for  something  to  eat ;  and, 
Catharina,  cara  mia^  since  the  cook  is  in  limbo,  I  must  look  to 
you.     We  can  consult  over  our  coffee." 

Catharina  smiled  and  tripped  away.  Returning  a  moment 
afterwards  she  announced  that  their  supper  was  already  made, 
and  called  them  to  it. 

"  Do  you  remember  Dugald  Dalgetty  ?"  asked  Hugh  as  they 
seated  themselves  round  the  table. 

"  Yes  ;  what  of  him  ?"  said  Allen. 

"  *It  was  a  lesson,*  says  Dugald,"  answered  Hugh,  "  'taught 
me  by  the  immortal  Gustavus  Adolphus,  the  Lion  of  the  North 
and  the  BuJirarA-  of  the  Protestant  Faith,  to  be  caiei\x\  uVwv^% 


/ 


212  TALBOT  ANI>  VERNON. 


to  Jay  in  for  a  siege.'  Now,  I  see  no  reason  why  we  should  not 
do  full  justice  to  Marola's  viands,  since  if  we  have  to  leave  this, 
probably  plenty  to  eat  before  starting  will  not  impede  our 
journey." 

"  There  seems  to  be  a  good  deal  of  the  non  sequitur  about 
the  latter  part  of  the  remark,"  said  Allen ;  '*  for  it  seems  to  me 
we  are  laying  in  for  a  retreat  rather  than  a  siege." 

"  Only  a  sortie,  only  a  sortie,"  said  Hugh,  helping  himself  to 
a  reasonably  large  piece  of  broiled  goat's  flesh. 

"  I  hope,"  said  Bonaro,  "  there  are  not  many  of  the  Dalgetty 
stamp  in  your  army ;  for,  if  I  remember  aright,  it  was  another 
of  his  maxims  '  always  to  quarter  on  the  enemy.'  " 

"  I  doubt  the  policy,  and  even  the  humanity,  of  doing  any- 
thing else,"  said  Hugh  bluntly.  "  War  will  sooner  be  brought 
to  a  close,  and  fewer  lives  will  be  sacrificed,  when  there  is  no 
puling  nonsense  allowed  to  interfere  with  the  plain  duties  of 
the  soldier.  It  is  the  most  cruel  policy  imaginable,  to  attempt 
to  mingle  peace  and  war.  If  the  "  horrors  of  war,"  so  called, 
do  not  come  home  to  the  people  of  an  invaded  country,  tbeii 
Government  cannot  be  forced  to  a  peace ;  for  the  governors  are 
of  course  always  beyond  danger.  The  march  of  an  invading 
army  through  a  country,  which  they  religiously  spare,,  is  a 
blessing  to  that  country,  of  which  they  are  not  over  anxious  to 
be  rid.  You  must  make  war  distinct  from  peace,  and  keep 
peace  separate  from  war  ;  you  must  make  war  a  real  curse,  and 
an  invasion  a  real  evil ;  else  you  have  no  assurance  that  the 
same  outrages,  for  which  you  are  now  fighting,  will  not  be  re- 
peated again  and  again ;  even  if  your  mistaken  humanity  does 
not  so  protract  the  present  war,  as  to  destroy  more  lives  than 
vrovild  be   destroyed  by  iVie  nvosX.  wxtoi\d\^^  \iaeuae.      Half- 


TALBOT^AND  VERNON.  213 


measures  denote  half-men ;  and  to  proclaim  war  with  one 
breath,  and  then  preach  humanity  and  lenience  with  the  next, 
is  to  mingle  things  which  will  not  mix ;  you  produce  a  state  of 
things  which  is  neither  peace  nor  war,  but  infinitely  more  cruel 
than  either.  The  appearance  of  war  mars  the  beauties  of  peace, 
and  the  aflfectation  of  peace  destroys  the  rough  virtues  of  war.' 

"  Perhaps  you  are  right,"  said  the  old  man,  with  a  sigh. 
'*  But  I  hope  the  time  is  not  distant  when  peace  will  be  no 
longer  an  affectation." 

"  I  will  join  you  in  that  hope  most  heartily,"  said  Hugh, 
resuming  his  eating,  which  in  his  warmth  he  had  superseded, 
and  glancing  at  Catharina,  who  was  gazing  at  him  in  surprise. 

"  Hugh  is  disposed  to  find  fault  with  our  Government,"  said 
Allen,  "  for  not  prosecuting  the  war  more  vigorously ;  or  for 
not  making  it  more  sensibly  felt  by  the  invaded  people.  And 
I  apprehend  that  with  any  other  people  for  an  enemy  he  would 
be  right.  The  only  legitimate  object  of  a  war  is  an  honorable 
peace  ;  and  the  former  is  justifiable  only  when  the  latter  cannot 
be  maintained.  In  order  to  secure  such  a  peace,  he  thinks  the 
people  ought  to  be  made  to  feel  the  diiSerence  between  the  two 
states.  But  he  forgets  that,  in  Mexico,  there  is  less  sympathy 
between  the  people  and  the  rulers,  than  in  any  other  country  on 
earth — that  at  least  one  third  of  the  people  do  not  even  know 
who  is  at  the  head  of  affairs,  and  that  probably  tliey  will 
scarcely  hear  of  one  revolution,  before  another  has  taken 
place — like  the  woes  in  Hamlet,  one  convulsion 


(( 


doth  tread  upon  another's  heel, 


So  fast  they  follow." 

"  That  is  only  another  reason  for  drubbing  them  into  atten- 
tion to  their  domestic  affairs,''  said  Hugh.     "If  iVie^  "WOMilA 


214  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


exercise  the  rights  guaranteed  to  them  by  the  theory  of  their 
government,  they  would  have  a  sound,  steady,  and  true  repub- 
lic ;  whereas,  the^  now  have  only  a  shifting,  revolving  succes- 
sion of  petty  revolutions,  which  are  merely  personal  to  their 
chiefs,  and  end  in  nothing  but  a  change  of  masters." 

"  There  is  too  much  truth  in  that,"  said  Bonaro,  mournfully ; 
"  but  I  fear  carrying  the  horrors  of  war  to  the  doors  of  men 
who  know  little,  and  care  less,  about  these  revolutions,  will  do 
little  to  make  our  country  better  or  our  government  more  stable. 
We  are  cursed  with  a  locust-swarm  of  military  chieftains,  the 
fungus  growth  of  many  internal  dissensions ;  and  their  rivalries 
bid  fair  to  make  our  country  uninhabitable  for  many  years  to 
come.  I  hope  the  many  successes  of  this  war  may  not  entail 
the  same  curse  upon  your  country.  I  am  told  that  already  a 
party  in  the  States  is  bringing  the  name  of  General  Taylor  for- 
ward for  the  Presidency ;  and  a  crop  of  younger  generals  will 
be  grown  before  the  close  of  the  war,  whose  successive  claims 
may  give  your  country  much  trouble  and  dissension." 

"  The  men  who  reach  the  Presidency  in  the  States,"  said 
Allen,  <<  must  do  so  through  the  regular  channels ;  and  an  at* 
temp  to  use  either  violence  or  undue  compulsion  of  any  kind, 
would  ruin  all  who  might  be  engaged  in  it." 

"  That  is  true,  wow;,"  said  Bonaro  ;  "  but  once  establish  the 
habit  of  electing  men  to  that  post  for  military  services  alone, 
and  after  a  while  it  will  have  the  sanction  of  a  precedent,  a  few 
years  longer  and  it  will  come  to  be  agreed  that  the  man  who 
is  the  most  successful  general,  is  entitled  to  the  Presidency. 
From  that  it  is  but  one  step  to  force ;  and  thirty  years  may  see 
a  victorious  army  marching  home  from  a  foreign  expedition,  to 
piace  their  general  at  the  Yie^d  oi  \.\x^  government.     So  long  as 


TALBOT  AND  VEENON.  215 

your  generals  remain  law-abiding  men,  there  is  no  danger  ;  but 
if  the  time  ever  should  come,  when  they  shall  cease  to  be  so, 
it  will  be  found  that  no  country  on  earth  presents  an  easier  road 
to  usurpation." 

"  I  am  very  unwilling  to  believe  so,"  said  Allen,  "  and  should 
be  still  more  unwilling  to  see  it  tested." 

"  We  had  better  be  making  our  arrangements  to  march,"  said 
Hugh.     •'  We  ought  to  be  across  the  road  before  dawn." 

'*  But  if  Ignacio  should  not  succeed  in  his  search,"  suggested 
Allen. 

"  Then,"  said  Hugh,  "  you  and  Catharina  must  ride  his  mule 
alternately  ;  Bonaro  and  I  can  walk." 

"  The  sefior  can  ride  all  the  way,"  said  Catharina.  "  I 
would  much  rather  walk  than  ride  ?" 

Hugh  smiled  as  if  he  thought  she  desired  to  be  with  him  ; 
and  Allen  replied — 

"  I  think  I  shall  be  strong  enough  to  walk,  if  the  distance  be 
not  too  long.     Where  is  it  proposed  to  go  ?" 

•*  We  want  t6  reach  the  Pass  of  Palomas  as  soon  as  possi- 
ble," said  Hugh,  "  and  that  is  full  forty  miles  away." 

*«  I  can  walk  it,"  said  Allen. 

**  And  so  can  I,"  said  Catharina. 

"  I  hope  neither  of  you  will  have  to  do  so,"  said  Hugh.  "  So 
numerous  an  army  must  certainly  leave  some  horses  in  the 
chaparral ;  and,  at  all  events,  we  must  wait  for  Ignacio." 


CHAPTER    XI. 

**  Thehillf  that  shake,  although  anrent, 

Aa  if  an  earthquake  paiaed— 
The  thousand  shapeless  things,  all  driven, 
In  cloud  and  flame  athwart  the  heaven, 

By  that  tremendous  blast, 
Proclaimed  the  desperate  conflict  o*er." — Siegb  of  Corihth. 

Hugh  insisted  that  Catharina  and  Allen  should  endeavor  to 
gain  some  repose,  before  it  became  necessary  to  set  out ;  and 
accordingly  they  retired,  leaving  him  and  the  old  man  upon 
watch,  the  one  for  their  enemies,  of  whose  attack  before  morn- 
ing, they  had,  however,  but  slight  apprehension,  and  the  other 
for  the  signal  of  Ignacio.  Several  hours  passed  away  in  per- 
fect silence — Hugh  pacing  slowly  up  and  down  the  terrace  in 
front  of  the  house,  and  the  old  man  sitting  upon  a  point  below 
from  which  he  could  see  the  bottom  of  the  ravine.  There  was 
no  moon,  and  though  the  stars  shone  clear  and  bright  through 
the  pure  atmosphere,  the  shadows  of  the  misquits  and  the  over- 
hanging rocks  made  the  night  almost  palpably  dark.  In  the 
direction  of  the  head  of  the  ravine  Hugh  could  just  discern  the 
forms  of  the  rocks  and  trees,  while  everything  else  lay  envelop- 
ed in  the  still  darkness  of  a  night  among  the  mountains.  The 
only  sound  audible  to  his  ears,  was  the  trickling  of  the  fountain 
behind  him,  or  the  occasional  lonely  cry  of  some  wild  animal. 
Even  the  pines  on  the  top  of  the  mountain  were  still,  as  if  no 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  217 


(vind  had  ever  roared  through  their  branches ;  and  not  a  breath 
>f  air  stirred  a  leaf  or  a  tendril  of  the  vines  which  hung  above 
md  around  him.  The  air  was  mild  as  the  evening  air  of  June, 
Its  coolness  serving  only  to  make  it  pure,  and  its  stillness  giving 
its  balm  time  to  settle  gently  upon  the  spirit.  This,  be  it  re- 
membered, was  on  the  Sunday  evening  before  the  battle  of 
Buena  Vista ;  and  it  was  not  more  than  twenty  miles  to  the 
vaHey  in  which  the  American  army  was  then  lying,  almost 
blinded  by  the  dust  which  a  heavy  wind  blew  in  clouds  along 
the  camp,  and  benumbed  by  the  cold,  damp  currents  from  the 
mountain  !* 

Hugh  several  times  ascended  the  bank  and  gazed  around  the 
plateau  for  a  fire  or  some  other  sign  of  the  presence  of  his  ene- 
mies.  But  nothing  of  the  sort  was  to  be  seen.  One  unbroken 
shadow  lay  upon  the  whole  view,  and  the  very  Spirit  of  Si- 
lence seemed  to  be  reigning  over  the  scene.  Once  he  thought 
he  heard  a  foot-fall  upon  the  dry  pebbly  soil ;  but  on  listening 
attentively  for  some  minutes  he  heard  no  repetition  of  th^  sound. 
Attributing  il  to  imagination  he  returned  to  the  terrace  and 
seated  himself  in  front  of  the  rancko. 

There  was  something  in  this  stillness  which  oppressed  him. 
He  could  not  understand  the  want  of  all  signs  of  the  presence 
of  those  whose  proximity  he  knew.  There  was  something  sus- 
picious in  it,  something  exciting,  and  all  his  senses  were  wound 
up  to  a  point  of  painful  acuteness.  He  bent  his  eyes  upon  the 
darkness  as  if  he  would  have  pierced  the  rock,  and  he  listened 
as  if  he  could  hear  the  voices  of  the  spirits  around  him.  In  the 
midst  of  this  excitement,  for  which  he  was  not  able  to  account, 

•  It  is  not  at  all  rare,  for  the  two  sides  of  a  ridge  of  mountaios  to  present 
almost  exact  opposites  in  weather. 


218  TALBOT  AND  VEBNON. 


he  thought  he  suddenly  heard  a  repetition  of  the  same  sound  he 
had  heard  above — a  stealthy  foot  placed  upon  the  loose  pebbles, 
which  grated  beneath  its  weight.  It  was  in  the  same  direc- 
tion, too,  but  seemed  now  lower  down,,  as  if  the  person  who 
made  it  had  gained  the  island  upon  which  the  house  stood.  He 
bent  his  ear  nearer  to  the  ground,  but  could  hear  no  more.  He 
fixed  his  eyes  upon  the  point  from  which  the  sound  came,  and 
lo !  a  bush  seemed  to  be  moving,  though  at  a  considerable  dis- 
tance from  him !  He  gazed  at  it  but  it  stopped,  became  sta- 
tionary, and  assumed  the  shape  of  a  man !  ''  This  must  be  im- 
agination,'' he  thought ;  "  and  yet  it  cannot  be  either."  At  the 
same  moment  another  bush  moved  I  But  it  too  became  station- 
ary, and  assumed  the  shape  of  a  man ! 

"  They  have  found  means  to  cross  the  ravine,"  said  he  to 
himself,  "  and  are  coming  over  one  by  one." 

He  rose  stealthily  and  entered  the  house. 

"  Catharina,"  said  he,  "go  to  your  father  and  bring  him  im- 
mediately in ;  do  it  without  noise.     Where  is  Allen  ?" 

"  He  is  in  his  room.     What  has  happened.'" 

**  The  scoundrels  have  crossed  the  ravine.  Be  in  haste,  ^d 
above  all  do  not  make  a  noise." 

Catharina  tripped  quietly  away,  and  in  a  minute  returned 
with  her  father. 

"  We  must  retire  witliin  the  house,"  said  Hugh ;  "  I  see  our 
friends  are  about  to  attack  us.  Can  you  fasten  the  door  of  Al- 
len's room  securely  inside  ?" 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  old  man  in  a  whisper.  "  There  is  a  strong 
bar  inside,  and  the  door  itself  is  very  heavy  and  strong." 

"  Gather  up  whatever  you  want  to  take  with  you,  then,"  said 
Hugh,  "  for  we  must  tel'ue  lo  \\\^X  xoom  and  retreat  from  there. 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  219 


I  see  there  are  six  of  the  scoundrels  across,  and  probably  they 
have  as  many  more." 

Having  once  determined  the  locality,  he  could  more  easily 
distinguish  the  forms,  which,  he  had  now  no  doubt,  were  the 
forms  of  his  enemies.  While  Catharina  and  her  father  hastily 
but  silently  collected  the  articles  they  desired,  Hugh  advanced 
some  twenty  paces  toward  the  point  of  danger.  He  did  not 
VTBit  here  long,  before,  stooping  to  the  ground,  he  saw  four  more 
forms  join  the  group,  one  by  one ;  and  from  their  waiting  he 
doubted  not  more  were  behind.  The  event  justified  his  con- 
jecture ;'  for  very  soon  another  and  another  joined ;  and  then 
three  or  four  emerged  from  the  darkness  together,  and  the  group 
enlarged  until  there  were  at  least  twenty  of  them.  He  thought 
he  could  see  muskets  in  their  hands,  too,  and  he  at  once  conjec- 
tured aright,  that  the  original  number  had  been  increased  by 
stragglers  from  the  army. 

He  waited  to  see  no  more,  but  returned  at  once  to  the  door 
of  the  room  in  which  Allen  had  been  placed.  He  found  Ca- 
tharina standing  without  and  Allen  and  her  father  arranging  the 
door  for  defence. 

"  Gro  in,  cara  mia,''  said  Hugh,  gently  leading  her  within. 
"Have  you  the  bar  ready?*'  he  continued.  "Try  it  if  you 
have,  and  see  if  you  can  place  it  in  the  staples  hastily.'' 

"  You  come  in,"  said  Catharina,  as  they  were  about  to  shut 
the  door  upon  him ;  "  they  may  rush  upon  you." 

*'  No  fear  of  that,"  said  Hugh,  and  the  door  was  closed,  and 
the  bar  found  to  fit. 

"  Now  stand  ready  to  put  it  in  without  delay,"  Hugh  con- 
tinued as  they  re-opened  the  door,  "  and  I  will  see  why  these 
fellows  are  hreakw^^  the  Mexican  ruie,  to  go  upon  wwViV^  «?c^ 
peditiojos  only  by  daylight, " 


220  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 

So  saying  he  raised  his  rifle  slowly  to  his  face  and  fired.  A 
single  yell  of  agony  rose  from  the  group,  and  a  sudden  rush 
towards  the  house.  Hugh  stepped  quietly  within,  and  the  bar 
was  shot  into  the  heavy  iron  staples  across  the  door.  A  mo- 
ment afterwards  several  men  were  heard  to  enter  the  adjoining 
room,  and  four  or  five  beat  furiously  upon  the  door  with  the 
butts  of  their  muskets. 

"  Knock  away,  sehores  ladrones"  Hugh  called  out,  "  we  will 
be  glad  to  receive  you  when  you  can  come  in.  And  now, 
amigas,**  he  continued,  "  we  must  be  off  as  fast  as  possible. 
The  door  will  resist  them  a  long  time.  Let  us  see  what  we 
can  do  before  they  can  beat  it  down.'' 

"  What  will  become  of  Marola  ?"  asked  Catharina ;  "  we 
cannot  leave  her  behind." 

'*  What  claim  has  she  upon  our  kindness  ?"  asked  her  father, 
sternly.     "  Let  her  take  the  punishment  of  her  treachery." 

"  Father,"  said  Catharina,  decidedly,  "  your  resentment 
makes  you  forget.  Marola  has  done  wrong,  it  is  true  ;  but  she 
acted  from  her  instincts,  as  we  act  upon  our  reason.  She  has, 
besides,  the  claim  of  long  service  upon  us  :  we  have  protected 
her  for  years,  and  this  obliges  us  to  continue  her  friends.  I, 
for  one,  will  not  abandon  her  while  there  is  a  chance  to  assist 
her." 

"  She  is  right, "said  Allen  ;  "  we  must  release  her  if  we  can." 

"  Come,  come,"  said  Hugh,  bluntly,  *•  kindness  is  a  very  good 
thing,  but  when  it  cannot  be  exercised  it  is  folly  to  stand  talk- 
ing about  it,  with  an  enemy  thundering  at  the  door.  Marola 
will  be  released,  even  if  she  be  not  already  free  :  the  scoundrel 
who  jfired  the  escopet  at  me  knows  of  her  prison.     Come,  let  us 

go- 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  221 

As  he  spoke  he  led  Catharina  towards  the  recess,  and  was 
followed  by  Allen  and  Bonaro.  On  passing  out,  they  found 
themselves  upon  a  narrow  ledge,  or  rather  projeqting  rock, 
against  which  stood  a  light  ladder,  left  there  by  Catharina 
when  she  returned  from  accompanying  Ignacio  to  the  cliff. 

"  Let  me  go  first,"  said  Catharina,  as  she  placed  her  foot  upon 
the  upper  round,  and  ran  lightly  down,  followed  by  the  whole 
party.  At  the  foot  of  the  ladder  they  found  themselves  upon  a 
ledge  like  the  first,  from  which  they  descended  upon  another, 
and  then  upon  a  third.  It  was  dark,  the  small  lantern  they 
carried  being  carefully  guarded  by  Hugh,  and  only  illumining 
a  few  feet  of  the  opposite  rock ;  and  within  the  chasm  the 
night  was  doubly  dark.  They  could  hear  the  clamorous  shout- 
ing above,  and  an  occasional  loud  crash,  as  if  some  heavy  body 
were  thrown  against  the  door  ;  but  they  knew  from  the  sound, 
that  it  still  held  out  against  their  attacks.  At  each  remove 
these  sounds  grew  more  indistinct,  until,  when  they  stood  upon 
the  third  and  last  ledge,  the  noises  only  reverberated  occasion- 
ally against  the  rocks,  and  seemed  to  be  made  immediately 
above  their  heads — as  sounds  heard  at  the  bottom  of  a  well. 

**  We  are  getting  down  into  the  bowels  of  the  earth,"  said 
Hugh,  as  he  came  down  last  and  the  old  man  arranged  the  lad- 
der upon  the  bottom  of  the  chasm. 

"  We  have  descended  more  than  forty  feet,"  replied  Bonaro  ; 
"  this  time  we  reach  the  bottom." 

"  Let  me  go  first,  then,"  said  Hugh,  drawing  Catharina  back ; 
"  there  may  be  danger  below." 

•«  So  much  the  greater  reason  why  I  should  precede  you," 
said  she,  regaining  the  ladder  and  going  down ;  "  nobody 
Vrould  hurt  me,  and  I  can  give  you  notice." 


222  TALBOT  AND  YE&NON. 


**  You  are  a  brave  girl,''  said  Hugh — **  made  to  be  a  soldier's 
wife." 

"Then  I  suspect  she  will  fulfil  her  destiny/*  said  Allen, 
laughing. 

« I  hope  so/'  said  Hugh,  and  the  friends  understood  each 
other. 

The  old  man  was  half  way  down  the  ladder,  but  his  ear 
caught  the  sounds,  as  he  reached  the  ground  upon  which  his 
daughter  stood,  he  hastily  said — 

"  My  daughter,  are  you  affianced  to  this  stranger  ?" 

"  Why  do  you  ask,  father  ?" 

"  It  is  too  late,  then  I"  he  exclaimed.  "  But  I  was  selfish— I 
must  speak  to  you  alone  very  soon." 

Allen's  coming  broke  off*  the  brief  conversation,  and  soon 
afterwards  Hugh  stood  among  them,  holding  the  lantern,  and 
examining  the  ground  around  them.  They  were  in  the  bottom 
of  the  ravine,  and  on  each  side  rose  a  wall,  almost  perpen- 
dicular for  sixty  feet.  Towards  the  south  it  deepened  gradu- 
ally, having  been  washed  by  the  heavy  rains,  and  the  chasm 
took  the  form  of  a  mere  notch  in  the  rocks.  On  looking  up, 
Hugh  found  that  the  overhanging  bushes  and  vines  concealed 
the  sky,  with  the  exception  of  a  very  narrow  line,  along  which 
twinkled  a  few  clear,  though  distant  stars — appearing  and  dis- 
appearing, as  the  leaves  and  branches  of  the  vines  swung 
slowly  in  the  rising  wind.  Als  he  gazed  upward,  he  thought 
the  leaves  began  (b  glisten  and  grow  more  distinct,  as  if  the 
dawn  were  coming  on  them ;  but  it  was  scarcely  more  than 
midnight  yet,  and  the  light  on  the  leaves  was  red  and  fast  in- 
creasing. The  noises  above  had  entirely  ceased,  as  if  the  as- 
saiiants  had  given  up  lYie  aUacW. 
"  What  does  that  ligVil  mearvT'  Hw^^^V^^ 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  223 


"  They  must  have  set  fire  to  the  bouse,**  said  Bonaro,  "to 
unearth  us  ;  but  they  will  only  destroy  themselves.** 

«'  How  so  ?**  asked  Allen. 

"  There  are  two  hundred  pounds  of  gunpowder  in  the  room 
"we  have  just  left,**  said  the  old  man.  "  It  was  left  there  in  the 
chest  you  saw,  by  General  Sanchez,  a  year  ago,  and  has  never 
been  removed.*' 

"  Then  let  us  get  out  of  this  neighborhood  as  soon  as  pos- 
sible,*' said  Hugh,  "  lest  we  be  involved  in  the  ruin.  An  ex- 
plosion of  that  quantity  of  gunpowder  will  sweep  the  whole 
terrace  clean  !** 

"How  bright  the  light  is  becoming !'*  said  Allen,  looking 
up  ;  "  we  must  hasten  away.'* 

"  Can  we  not  notify  them  of  their  danger  ?**  suggested  Ca- 
tharina. 

But  Hugh  seized  her  hand  and  hurried  her  away  down  the 
fissure,  as  fast  as  he  could  walk,  followed  by  Allen  and  Bonaro. 
The  chasm  turned  gradually  to  the  right,  but  the  fire  above  in- 
creased so  fast  that  the  light  followed  them,  and  made  their  lan- 
tern no  longer  of  use.  The  way  was  rough,  and  often  descend- 
ed precipitously  several  feet,  where,  in  the  wet  season,  little 
cascades  were  formed.  Down  these  places  Hugh  sprang  hastily, 
lifting  Catharina  in  his  arms,  and  landing  her  safely  below.  So 
eager  was  his  haste,  that  he  outstripped  the  other  men,  and  in 
the  winding  of  the  chasm  lost  sight  of  them.  He  had  ran  thus 
some  four  or  five  hundred  yards,  when  he  was  suddenly  brought 
to  a  stand  on  the  brink  of  a  precipice  at  least  one  hundred  feet 
high.  Directly  beneath  and  in  front  lay  the  great  ravine,  now 
strongly  illuminated  by  the  burning  of  the  light  thatch  of  the 
house^  and  at  the  distance  of  nearly  a  mile  down  its  bed, 'W^x^ 


224  TALBOT  AND  VEKNON. 


visible  three  small  fires,  burning  pale  and  dini  in  the  stronger 
light. 

*'  The  ladder  is  below  !''  Catharina  exclaimed  ;  '*  it  was  left 
there  by  Ignacio !" 

<'  Ladder !"  said  Hugh.  '*  No  ladder  is  long  enough  for  this 
cliff." 

<*  There  are  ledges  like  those  above/'  said  she. 

"  Then  I  must  go  back  for  the  other  ladder,"  said  Hugh  ;  but 
as  he  started  back,  Catharina  approached  the  brink  and  ex- 
claimed— 

"  Ignacio  is  coming  up !  See  ! — here  belc^w  us  I  And  there 
is  his  signal ! — the  three  fires ;  he  has  found  horses  !" 

Hugh  looked  where  she  pointed,  and  saw  a  man  apparently 
climbing  the  very  face  of  the  rock.  As  he  reached  one  ledge 
he  stopped,  drew  up  the  ladder,  and  placing  it  against  the  next 
shelf,  thus  gradually  ascended.  At  first  he  appeared  like  a 
mere  speck  ;  but  as  he  approached  he  became  distinctly  visible. 
He  had  performed  this  operation  six  or  seven  times,  and  bad 
come  within  two  or  three  ledges  of  the  top,  when  Catharina 
suddenly  whispered — 

"  It  is  not  Ignacio !" 

At  the  same  moment  her  blood  ran  cold,  as  her  eye  caught 
the  form  of  seven  men,  huddled  together  within  a  recess  be- 
hind a  point  of  the  rock,  and  glaring  upon  them  like  beasts  of 
prey.  Hugh  saw  them  at  the  same  moment,  and  discharged 
his  rifle  among  them,  killing  one  upon  the  spot.  The  remaining 
six  fired  a  whole  volley  hastily,  and,  fortunately  for  Hugh  and 
Catharina,  before  their  muskets  reached  the  level.  One  ball  en- 
tered the  fleshy  part  of  Hugh's  shoulder ;  but  it  did  not  prevent 
bis  drawinsr  his  swoid  w\lYi  o\ie  Wn^  ^xA  ^  "  revolver"  with 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  225 


the  other.  He  had  need  of  all  his  arms ;  for  the  whole  six 
rushed  at  him  with  bayonets  at  a  charge. 

**  Run !"  he  exclaimed,  to  Catharina.  "  Run  out  of  the 
way !"  and  he  parried  the  thrusts  of  the  bayonets  with  his 
sword,  firing  his  six  shots  rapidly  in  succession  with  his  left 
hand.  Only  one  of  them  fell,  however,  owing  to  his  haste  and 
the  unsteadiness  of  his  hand.  But  another  was  shot  in  the 
hand,  dropping  his  musket  '^  and,  at  the  same  moment,  Allen 
and  the  old  man  fired  their  pistols  among  the  group,  and  joined 
Hugh. 

"  You  have  wasted  your  powder,"  said  the  latter,  as  no  one 
fell  from  their  shots,  striking,  at  the  same  moment,  at  a  large, 
brawny  fellow,  who  was  pressing  him  too  closely. 

It  was  now  a  hand-to-hand  fight — three  swords  against  five 
bayonets,  when  the  man  who  had  been  climbing  the  clifi*  sprang 
suddenly  upon  the  rock,  and  seizing  the  musket  of  one  who 
had  fallen,  at  once  joined  the  assailants. 

"  Grod  help  us  now  1"  exclaimed  the  old  man  ;  and  the  three 
began  slowly  to  give  ground,  fighting  side  by  side,  and  contest- 
ing every  inch  of  the  ground.  The  ravine  here  grew  wider, 
and  where  they  were  fighting  there  was  a  broad  flat  rock, 
swept  by  the  waters,  and  jutting  square  against  the  perpen- 
dicular rocks  on  each  side.  Our  friends  began  retreating  to- 
wards the  side  next  the  house,  where  their  enemies  had  been 
concealed ;  and  in  less  than  a  minute  they  were  beyond  the 
point  of  the  rock  which  had  concealed  them,  with  their  backs 
almost  against  the  wall.  Catharina  was  behind  them,  alter- 
nately advancing  and  retreating,  wringing  her  hands  in  the 
greatest  distress.     She  stumbled  over  the  musket  lost  by  the 

man  first  shot ;  she  raised  it  suddenly,  and  with  ven^ew\ce  m 

10* 


226  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


her  look  discharged  it  at  her  enemies.  But  her  hand  was  too 
unsteady,  ^nd  the  harmless  report  only  reverberated  across  the 
great  ravine^ 

*'  God  help  us  now,  indeed !''  exclaimed  Hugh.  <'  We  have 
nothing  to  do  but  fight  to  the  last !'' 

The  prayer  was  answered !  As  he  ^poke,  a  flash  of  intense, 
glaring  light  blinded  them  all,  and  a  roar,  like  the  springing  of 
a  mine,  shook  the  earth  for  miles  around.  A  hissing,  rushing 
sound  through  the  air  came  next,  and  then  a  perfect  flood  of 
rocks  and  beams  and  earth  and  trees,  came  bounding  and  roar- 
ing down  the  bed  of  the  ravine,  like  an  avalanche !  Enormous 
rocks  came  rolling  and  crashing  down,  springing  far  over  the 
cliff  into  the  abyss  beyond,  while  dust  and  leaves  and  straw  and 
earth  made  the  air  thick  with  ruin.  Darkness  intense  succeed- 
ed the  flash,  and  the  eyes  of  our  friends  involuntarily  closed. 
When  they  opened  them  again,  the  glimmering  light  showed 
them  the  narrow  ravine  gorged  with  rubbish ;  but  the  flat, 
open  rock  upon  which  they  had  been  fighting,  was  almost  as 
bare  as  before.  Not  an  enemy  was  visible,  except  the  dead 
man  whom  Hugh  had  shot  at  the  beginning  of  the  affray.  The 
projecting  rock  which  had  served  the  assassins  as  a  curtain, 
had  turned  aside  the  storm  ;  but  the  tornado  of  rock  had  swept 
all  who  were  beyond  its  point  sheer  over  the  precipice  I  One 
yell  of  agony  and  terror  had  heralded  their  death.  They  were 
now  lying  at  the  foot  6f  the  cliff,  torn  and  mangled  and  crushed. 

"  God  has  helped  us,  indeed,"  said  Bonaro,  and  a  deep  breath 
testified  their  deliverance. 

**  The  house  must  be  blown  to  atoms  !'*  said  Hugh.  And  so, 
indeed,  it  was.  The  gunpowder  had  been  carefully  covered  in 
^*  the  south  room,''  and  was  uotte%.Qh^  until  the  roof  fell  in- 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  227 


Then  one  tremendous  explosion  swept  the  island  of  every 
assailant,  throwing  some  of  them  almost  across  the  barranca^ 
and  forcing  the  mass  of  rock  at  the  back  of  the  house  into  the 
small  ravine.  Here  the  slope  and  its  immense  weight  carried 
part  of  it  down  the  narrow  channel  like  a  tempest ;  and  though 
not  one-tenth  of  it  had  reached  the  mouth  of  the  chasm,  enough 
bad  gone  far  enough  to  have  swept  three  regiments  of  men 
into  eternity,  had  they  stood  before  it.  Our  friends  had  been 
driven  to  the  only  point  where  their  lives  could  have  been 
saved,  where  the  projecting  rock  diverted  the  torrent  another 
way  ;  and  hence  their  deliverance. 


CHAPTER    XII. 

'*  Who  darei  not  itirby  day,  must  walk  by  night"— Kino  John 

'*  Haite  ii  needfal  in  a  deiperate  caie.''— Hcif  rt  YI.,  Part  Thrbb. 

**  And  fiut  we  fled,  away !  away  !"— >Mazeppa. 

"  'Til  certain  he  hath  paaaed  the  rirer  Somme.''— Hkitrt  V. 

"  *Twixt  hoit  and  host  but  narrow  space  was  left." — ^Paradise  Lost. 

<*  Ay  !  now  the  lound  of  battle  i»  abroad."— HsiiAirs. 

Not  a  word  was  spoken  by  eitner  of  the  party,  for  more  than 
a  minute — so  sudden  and  awful  had  been  their  escape.  The 
cliflf  upon  which  they  stood  rocked  for  several  moments,  as  if 
moved  by  an  earthquake.  The  intense  flash  which  had  lit  up 
the  heavens,  went  out  as  suddenly  as  lightning.  The  echoes 
among  the  hills  bore  away  the  sound,  in  ever-retreating  waves. 
A  silence  settled  upon  the  land,  deep  as  the  darkness,  and  the 
mantle  of  night  lifted  for  a  moment,  fell  back  to  the  earth. 

By  degrees,  the  burning  fragments,  which  had  been  scattered 
and  almost  extinguished  by  the  explosion,  were  rekindled  by 
the  rising  wind ;  and  the  flickering  light  from  a  burning  pine 
beam,  which  had  fallen  near  them,  showed  them  the  bare  rock, 
upon  which,  not  two  minutes  before,  their  enemies  had  huddled 
round  them.  Far  down  the  ravine  and  in  plain  view,  the  three 
signal  fires  of  Ignacio  were  still  burning,  clear  but  distant. 

**  The  scoundrel  has  betrayed  us,''  said  Hugh,  breaking  the 
Bilence. 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  229 


"  If  he  has,"  said  Bonaro,  "  he  has  probably  suffered  for  his 
treachery.     But  I  do  not  believe  it." 

**  How  else  could  these  men  have  got  here  ?"  asked  Hugh. 

^'  Appearances  are  against  him,  certainly,"  said  the  old  man ; 
"  but  I  am  loth  to  believe  it,  of  one  who  has  served  me  so  faith- 
fully." 

**  He  must  have  met  with  these  men,  and  been  compelled  to 
show  them  the  way,"  said  Catharina. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  destroy  so  pleasing  a  faith,"  said  Allen,  who 
had  been  examining  the  features  of  the  man  first  killed  by  Hugh ; 
"  but  here  lies  the  very  man — killed  by  the  first  shot  fired  in  our 
defence  against  his  treason." 

All  immediately  turned  to  the  corpse,  and  all,  at  once,  identi- 
fied the  small,  pinched  features  of  Ignacio.  Hugh's  bullet  had 
passed  directly  through  his  head ;  but  it  was  not  difficult  to  re- 
cognize his  open  eyes,  and  hard -closed  mouth. 

"  He  has  met  his  punishment  in  the  very  moment  of  crime," 
said  Bonaro  ;  "  let  us  leave  him  to  God.  It  is  now  too  late  for 
our  interference." 

Catharina  had  turned  away  from  the  spectacle  and  walked 
towards  the  ledge. 

"  Come,  she  now  called,  "  let  us  go  down ;  the  ladder  is 
here." 

It  was  indeed  so.  The  upper  end  of  the  ladder  had  not  pro- 
jected over  the  main  ledge ;  and  the  momentum  of  the  rocks  had 
fortunately  been  so  great,  as  to  clear  it  in  their  descent.  Leav- 
ing the  corpse  of  the  traitor  untouched,  they  all  proceeded,  with 
as  much  rapidity  as  possible,  to  the  bottom  of  the  cliff.  The 
path  was  well  known  to  both  Bonaro  and  his  daughter  ;  and  in 
the  course  of  twenty  minutes  they  ail  stood  in  the  bed  oi  \\v^ 


230  TALBOT  AND  VEBNON. 


great  ravine.  Here  their  eyes  were  met  by  several  bodies, 
crushed,  mangled  and  beyond  recognition.  All  of  them  were 
quite  dead  ;  for  they  had  fallen  a  distance  of  more  than  one  hun- 
dred feet,  among  rocks  and  trees  and  rubbish.  They  turned 
with  horror  from  the  sight,  and  took  their  way  slowly  down  the 
ravine. 

"  We  should  approach  these  fires  cautiously,*'  said  Hugh. 
"  There  may  be  more  of  these  fellows  there." 

Accordingly,  when  they  had  walked  a  little  more  than  a 
mile,  the  party  halted,  and  Hugh  approached  the  fires  to  recon- 
noitre. He  passed  entirely  round  them^  gradually  drawing 
near ;  but  not  a  human  being  presented  himself.  The  fires 
were  burning  low,  but  they  still  cast  their  light  some  distance 
into  the  winding  recesses  of  the  thickets.  At  last  he  drew 
near  the  first  fire,  and  called  his  friends  to  him. 

"  There  is  no  one  here,"  said  he  ;  "we  can  go  on  in  safety." 

Numerous  footsteps  were  visible  in  the  soft  ground,  where 
there  was  any  moisture ;  but  they  all  seemed  to  tend  towards 
the  upper  end  of  the  ravine  ;  and  the  inference  was,  that  the 
whole  force  had  gone  upon  the  attack. 

"  They  have  either  all  perished,  or  those  left  behind  have 
been  frightened  away  by  the  explosion,"  said  Hugh ;  and  the 
party  resumed  the  way  down  the  rapidly-descending  chasm. 

Half  an  hour's  walk  brought  them  to  a  point  at  which  they 
could  gain  the  level,  and  here  they  halted  to  consult  about  their 
future  course. 

"  I  see  no  reason  for  altering  our  plans,"  said  Hugh  ;  and,  as 
usual,  his  decided,  self-reliant  tone  prevented  opposition.  "  We 
can  go  on  towards  the  Pass  of  Falomas,  trusting  to  Providence 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  231 

for  horses  or  mules.  If  we  can  only  get  one,  Catharina  can 
ride,  and  we  three  can  walk." 

"  What  sound  is  that  V*  said  Allen,  suddenly  interrupting 
him. 

"My  voice,  I  suppose,"  said  Hugh;  "I  heard  no  other." 

"  But  I  heard  some  other,"  rejoined  Allen.  *•  There  !  there 
It  IS  agam  1 

They  both  threw  themselves  upon  the  ground  and  listened 
attentively,  while  Catharina  stood  trembling  beside  her  father. 

**  It  is  the  stamping  of  numerous  horses,"  said  Hugh.  "  Can 
it  be  a  piquet  guard  ?" 

"  This  is  the  wrong  direction  for  that,"  replied  Allen.  "  Still, 
you  may  be  right.    Let  us  advance  cautiously  and  examine." 

"  You  stay  here,"  said  Hugh  ;  "  I  can  do  better  alone."  And 
he  again  advanced,  guided  by  the  sounds  which  grew  gradually 
louder  as  he  came  nearer.  A  few  minutes  brought  him  close  to 
a  number  of  horses,  standing  piquetted  to  the  ground,  and  im- 
patiently stamping  upon  the  hard,  gravelly  soil.  Between  him 
and  them,  were  the  remains  of  a  fire  and  three  or  four  saddles ; 
but  the  fire  gave  little  light,  and  seemed  to  have  been  long  neg- 
lected. Beside  several  of  the  saddles  were  thrown  scrapes  or 
blankets,  apparently  arranged  for  sleeping ;  but  they  were  now 
tossed  in  disorder,  as  if  suddenly  left  by  the  sleepers.  As  at  the 
other  fires,  not  a  human  being  was  to  be  seen,  and  not.  a  sound 
which  indicated  their  presence  was  heard.  Hugh  stood  for 
several  minutes,  gazing  intently  upon  the  scene ;  and  then  made 
a  circuit  round  the  group  of  horses.  Several  of  them  were  sad- 
died,  their  riders  either  expecting  to  use  them  soon,  or  being 
too  careless  to  relieve  them.  Again  he  went  round  ;  there  was 
something  so  singular,  and  so  suspicious,  about  the&e  t\A^t\^«^ 


232  TAXBOT  AND  VERNON. 

horses,  that  it  was  not  for  several  minutes  that  he  ventured 
among  them. 

When  at  last  he  did  so,  he  was  received  by  one  of  those  low 
nickering  sounds,  that  horses  always  give,  to  welcome  any  one 
who  approaches  them,  after  they  have  been  long  left  alone. 
They  thrust  out  their  noses  and  stepped  towards  him,  as  if  to 
become  better  acquainted.  But  their  sagacity  told  them  at 
once  he  was  a  stranger,  and  a  loud  snort  from  almost  all  of 
them  testified  their  alarm.  The  Americans  were  so  much  in 
the  habit  of  using  Mexican  horse-furniture,  that  Hugh  was  at 
first  unable  to  ascertain  whether  he  had  not  fallen  upon  the 
horses  of  friends.     But  the  snort  satisfied  him  at  once. 

"  Mexican  horses,  that's  clear,"  he  muttered.  **  But  they 
will  soon  have  American  owners,  that's  equally  clear.** 

He  proceeded  to  select  four  of  the  best  among  them— even 
taking  the  pains  to  saddle  two  of  them,  a  pair  of  fine,  powerful 
racers,  which  immediately  struck  his  fancy,  and  which  had 
been  unharnessed  by  their  masters.  Patting  them  gently  upon 
the  neck  and  talking  to  them  in  a  kind,  conciliating  tone,  he 
led  them  one  by  one  some  distance  from  their  companions  and 
re-picketted  them.  After  remaining  a  few  minutes  to  put  them 
completely  at  their  ease,  he  set  out  in  search  of  his  companions. 
He  found  them  again  without  difficulty,  and  in  a  very  few 
minutes  they  were  all  mounted. 

"  Can  you  ride  on  that  saddle,  Catharina  ?"  asked  Hugh, 
pointing  to  a  light  mustang,  whose  clean  limbs  and  knotted 
muscles  denoted  speed  and  power. 

"  If  you  will  help  me  into  it,**  she  replied  ;  and  lifting  her  in 
his  powerful  arms,  Hugh  set  her  at  once  in  the  saddle.  Bonaro 
and  Allen  were  already  mounted. 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  233 


"  Now,  wait  a  moment,"  said  Manning,  giving  the  rein  of 
his  horse  to  Vernon.  He  brought  the  remaining  horses,  num- 
baring  about  twenty,  together  in  a  close  group,  and  one  by  one 
cut  their  lariats  with  his  knife,  thus  freeing  them  all. 

"  What  is  he  doing  that  for  ?"  asked  Bonaro. 

"  To  provide  against  pursuit,  I  suppose,"  Allen  replied  ;  but 
as  he  spoke  Hugh  came  hastily  to  where  they  were,  and  sprang 
to  the  saddle.    - 

"  Kide  on,  now,"  said  he,  "  quietly  as  possible,  for  there  are 
men  approaching  us.     I'll  soon  drown  all  noises," 

As  the  party  moved  slowly  towards  the  east,  Hugh  struck  his 
spurs  into  his  horse's  flanks,  causing  him  to  bound  suddenly 
among  the  startled  horses.  As  he  did  so,  he  fired  a  pistol  in 
the  air  and  gave  a  loud  shout.  At  the  same  moment,  a  volley 
of  three  or  four  muskets  was  fired  at  him  from  the  thicket ;  and 
the  whole  startled  throng  set  off  at  a  thundering,  crashing  pace 
through  the  chaparral.  The  riders  had  been  drawn  up  the 
mountain  by  the  explosion,  and  returned  just  in  time  to  see 
themselves  robbed  of  all  their  horses.  Several  more  fehots  were 
fired  at  Hugh  as  he  galloped  away,  but  without  effect ;  and  in 
a  few  moments  he  was  with  his  friends,  going  at  a  quick,  though 
easy  pace  towards  the  road. 

"  Are  you  hurt  ?"  asked  Catharina  anxiously. 

"  Not  in  the  least,"  said  he  gaily.  "  As  long  as  Mexicans 
will  shoot  at  me  I  am  safe  ;  it  is  only  random  shots  that  tell. 
To  be  safe  from  pursuit  was  worth  the  risk  of  a  thousand 
muskets — especially  muskets  that  fizz  and  blow  as  those  did." 

**  What  time  had  you  to  observe  that  ?"  she  asked  gaily. 

"  O,  I'm  used  to  the  sound,"  said  he.  •*  One  of  those  Tower 
muskets  always  ffoes  off  by  degrees  :  first  you  heat  l\v^  c\\g\l  ol 


234  TALBOT  AND  VERNON- 

the  lock,  then  the  hissing  in  the  pan  and  lastly  the  report  at  the 
muzzle.  And,  besides,  they  generally  hurt  the  man  shooting 
more  than  the  man  shot  at^ 

Bonaro  winced  a  little  at  this  depreciating  tone,  but  did  not 
think  proper  to  make  any  reply.  His  silence  may  have  been 
in  part  a  consequence  of  his  knowledge,  that  Hugh's  criticism 
was  not  groundless.  The  writer  of  this  has  had  a  little  experi- 
ence of  both  ends  of  Mexican  muskets — ^has  been  struck  by  balls 
from  the  muzzle  and  been  "  kicked"  by  their  rebound — and  he 
can  add  his  testimony  to  that  of  Lieutenant  Manning,  that  the 
actual  pain  was  greater  in  the  latter,  than  in  the  former,  cases. 
Had  either  the  lieutenant  or  his  historian  been  struck  in  a  vital 
point,  possibly  this  testimony  might  never  have  been  given. 

The  fugitives  soon  crossed  the  road  near  the  place  w^here  our 
friends  had  left  it  nearly  four  weeks  before,  and  struck  directly 
into  the  plain.  They  travelled  on  a  line  parallel  to  the  eastern 
sierra,  which  extended  a  few  miles  towards  the  south,  and  then 
suddenly  receded — thus  forming  a  kind  of  sheltered  valley  con- 
nected with  the  plain,  but  constituting  no  part  of  it.  ^At  the 
eastern  point  of  this  triangular  plateau,  the  mountain  on  both 
sides  sloped  gradually  down,  until  there  was  nothing  but  a  low 
ridge  to  pass,  towards  which  the  plain  regularly  ascended. 
This  ridge  passed,  the  traveller  found  himself  in  another  valley 
of  similar  shape  and  equal  dimensions,  across  which  the  view 
was  bounded  by  a  high  spur  of  the  sierra,  jutting  far  into  the 
plain,  and  terminating  suddenly  like  the  "  curtain"  of  a  fortifi- 
cation. Along  this  plain,  and  almost  under  the  point  of  this 
spur,  wound  a  slightly-travelled  road,  leading  to  the  Pass  of 
Palomas,  four  miles  east  of  Saltillo.  It  was  the  object  of  our 
friends  to  find  this  road. 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  235 


The  morning  was  just  beginning  to  dawn  as  they  crossed 
the  road  ;  and  the  broken  outline  of  the  mountain's  was  tinged 
with  a  faint  white.  A  little  longer  and  the  trees  became  visi- 
ble, and  then  long  lines  of  sunlight,  and  finally  the  stars  faded 
out  in  the  west,  and  the  view  was  entirely  opened.  Numerous 
diverging  lines  of  dust  were  visible  in  different  parts  of  the 
plain,  where  the  fugitive  horses  were  still  pursuing  their  flight ; 
but  as  they  rounded  the  point  of  the  mountain  they  disappeared, 
leaving  the  sterile  plain  to  the  south  alone  in  sight.  They 
were  now,  they  thought,  safe  from  pursuit ;  and  the  nature  of 
the  ground  was  such  as  to  induce  a  slower  pace. 

Bonaro  and  Vernon  rode  along  side  by  side  in  front,  and 
Hugh  and  Catharine  brought  up  the  rear.  The  latter  rode 
gracefully  and  easily,  though  the  saddle  she  used  had  probably 
never  received  a  female  burden  before.  It  is,  however,  no 
uncommon  thing  in  Mexico,  to  see  a  woman  riding  upon  a 
man's  saddle  ;  and  not  a  few  of  them  ride  in  the  same  posture 
— though,  in  this  respect,  Catharina  was  an  exception.  She 
kept  her  seat  more  securely  than  many  of  the  fair  horsewomen 
of  our  own  country  would  have  Jbeen  able  to  do  with  all  the 
appliances  of  art ;  and  the  grace  of  her  bearing  was  in  due 
proportion.  The  spirited  and  active  horse  she  rode — one  of 
that  singular  breed  which  seems  to  be  endowed  with  unlimited 
endurance  and  incredible  speed — stepped  lightly  and  surely  over 
the  large  round  rocks  that  now  began  to  cumber  the  plain,  or 
sprang  actively,  though  carefully,  over  the  narrow  channels 
washed  in  the  ground  by  the  rains  of  winter. 

"  You  would  make  a  good  dragoon,"  said  Hugh,  laughing,  as 
her  horse  leaped  a  channel  of  more  than  ordinary  width. 

"Or  lancer,"  she  replied.      "Seriously,  though,  iM\.  w^i^ 


236  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 

not  for  the  fighting,  I  would  make  a  good  soldier  of  any  de- 
scription.** 

*'  I  think  you  might  fight  a  little,  too,**  said  Hugh. 

"  Never,**  she  said,  earnestly,  "  except  in  self-defence.'* 

**  Of  course  not,'*  said  Hugh.  "  Strife  is  justifiable  only  in 
self-defence.** 

"  Rather  a  strange  sentiment  for  an  American  soldier,**  she 
replied,  with  a  smile. 

"  Not  at  all,**  he  said,  warmly  ;  and  went  at  once  into  a  fall 
review  of  the  circumstances  under  which  the  war  began.  We 
need  not  weary  the  reader  with  a  recapitulation  of  the  argu- 
cflents  for  and  against  the  course  of  our  government :  the  ques- 
tion  has  been  made  capital  for  political  parties,  and  this  alone 
is  a  sufficient  reason  for  its  exclusion  from  a  work  of  this  cha< 
racter.  Let  it  suffice  that  Hugh  placed  the  war  upon  a  very 
narrow  basis — the  capture  of  Thornton*s  party,  in  1846,  the 
first  act  of  open  hostility  between  the  parties. 

"  I  dare  say  you  are  right  to  defend  the  cause  for  which  you 
fight,**  said  Catharina,  when  Hugh  had  gone  over  all  the  ground 
covered  by  his  limited  view ;  "  and  I  must  own  that  I  do  not 
feel  the  horror  of  your  aggression,  expressed  by  some  of  my 
countrymen.     But  it  seems  to  me  but  a  poor  defence  for  an  ag- 
gressor, to  say,  that  the  first  actual  assault  was  committed  by 
the  other  party,  when  that  assault  was  provoked  and  sought  by 
the  aggressor.     It  may  be  right  to  punish  him  who  breaks  the 
peace  ;  but  it  seems  wrong  to  allow  him  who  provoked  the 
breach,  to  go  entirely  scathless.     I  do  not  understand  these 
things.  Manning,  and  we  may  thus  differ  because  I  am  igno- 
rant ;  so  I  think  we  had  better  talk  about  something  more  in- 
teresting.*^ 


TALBOT  AND  VEHNON.  237 


**  With  all  my  heart,"  said  Hugh  ;  and  they  turned  at  once 
to  the  subject  uppermost  in  the  mind  of  each.  What  that 
was  let  us  not  inquire  ;  he  who  cannot  divine  it  had  better  close 
the  book. 

They  rode  on  for  several  hours,  gradually  approaching  the 
ridge  before  spoken  of,  and  hardly  pushing  their  horses  beyond 
a  walk.  Occasionally,  indeed,  they  came  to  a  stretch  of  level 
ground,  over  which  they  galloped ;  but  they  were  not,  when  the 
snn  was  two  hours  high,  more  than  twelve  miles  from  the  point 
at  which  they  left  the  San  Luis  road.  Here  the  way  led  them 
sharply  round  the  point  of  a  spur,  and  in  five  minutes  they  found 
themselves  climbing  the  sides  of  the  ridge.  Their  horses  were 
however,  accustomed  to  such  exercise,  and  moved  rapidly  and 
surely,  where  a  northern  horse  could  not  have  kept  his  feet  at 
all.  The  depression  in  the  mountain  was  so  great  as  to  enable 
them  to  reach  the  summit  of  the  ridge,  in  little  more  than  half 
an  hour  after  they  commenced  the  steep  ascent.  They  had  in 
fact  been  gradually  ascending  for  more  than  an  hour ;  but,  like 
all  the  mountains  in  that  country,  the  acclivity  only  deserved 
the  name,  after  more  than  half  the  height  had  been  overcome. 
Once  on  the  top  they  found  a  space  of  table  land  of  some  acres 
in  extent,  from  which  they  could  see  the  plains  in  both  direc- 
tions. 

**  Perhaps  we  had  better  halt  here  for  a  while,"  suggested 
Bonaro.  "  Beyond  this  point  I  know  nothing  of  the  road  ex- 
cept the  general  direction.     I  depended  upon  Ignacio  for  guid- 


ance." 


« 


We  cannot  go  far  wrong,"  said  Hugh,  as  he  dismounted 
and  lifted  Catharina  to  the  ground.     "  We  must  follow  this 


238  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


ridge  to  the  left,  until  we  think  ourselves  opposite  Saltillo,  and 
then  cross  the  mountain." 

"  I  have  some  hope  of  being  able  to  find  Palomas,"  said 
Bonaro.     "  Let  us  see  what  we  have  to  eat.** 

"  Here  is  a  small  stream,*'  said  Vernon,  who  had  been  ex- 
amining the  rock  upon  which  they  stood,  "  and  it  is  of  cold 
water.     "  Let  us  lead  the  horses  to  it.*' 

A  spring  gushed  out  of  the  mountain  side  some  hundred 
yards  above  them,  and  came  bounding  down  the  rocks  close  by 
them ;  and  to  this  they  led  their  thirsty  horses,  while  Catharina 
examined  their  scanty  provisions.  Scanty  as  they  were,  how- 
ever, they  were  quite  sufficient — consisting  of  dried  beef  and 
goats*  flesh,  with  tortillas  and  "  parched**  corn.  A  draught 
from  a  gourd  filled  at  the  fountain  completed  a  breakfast,  which 
was  relished  quite  as  thoroughly  as  ever  was  "  tea  and  toast  ;** 
and  in  less  than  ten  minutes  Hugh  and  Allen  were  examining 
the  plain  ahead  of  them,  with  the  glass  which  the  latter  still 
carried.  They  could  discover  nothing  like  a  road,  upon  a  plain 
which  was  equally  dusty  and  void  of  vegetation  in  every  part ; 
and  concluding  that  their  only  course  was  to  skirt  the  mountain, 
they  returned  to  Bonaro  and  his  daughter,  who  were  seated 
where  they  had  first  dismounted.  Their  horses  were  led  over 
the  brow  of  the  plateau  and  there  piquetted  upon  the  short 
wiry  grass  which  covered  the  east  side  of  the  slope ;  and  the 
whole  party  gave  themselves  up  to  repose,  which  all  needed 
alike.  Blankets  and  saddles  were  put  in  requisition,  and  for 
two  hours  their  slumber  was  profound. 

At  the  end  of  that  time,  Allen  rose  and  walked  to  the  brow 

of  the  hill  which  they  had  ascended,  and  swept  the  plain  with 

bia  glass,     A  cloud  oi  dual,  ^ip^^x^xiw^  x^\^^$^  \s^  ^  ^oup  of 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  239 


fifteen  or  twenty  horses,  attracted  his  attention,  at  the  distance 
of  three  or  four  miles  upon  the  plain.  Upon  examining  them 
closely,  he  discovered  that  the  horses  bore  riders,  and  that  the  , 
riders  were  lancers,  making  directly  for  the  pass  within  which 
they  were  reposing.  He  walked  hastily  back  and  waked  his 
companions. 

"  We  must  be  up  and  away,"  he  said  ;  "  a  company  of  lan- 
cers are  making  directly  for  this  pass." 

"  They  must  be  lost,"  said  Hugh  ;  "  but  we  must  go,  as  you 
say." 

Subsequent  events  explained  their  presence  there,  without 
any  such  supposition.  They  were  really  a  detachment  of  Mi- 
flon's  cavalry  brigade,  which  was  at  that  moment  entering  the 
Pass  of  Palomas — the  very  point  they  were  endeavoring  to 
reach ! 

In  half  an  hour  the  little  party  was  again  upon  the  plain, 
riding  at  a  swift,  even  gallop  along  the  spurs  of  the  mountain, 
endeavoring  to  get  beyond  view,  before  the  lancers  should 
reach  the  table  which  they  had  just  left.  Two  hours  of  this 
pace  brought  them  imder  the  shelter  of  the  mountain  which 
here  bends  in  towards  Saltillo,  and  they  drew  their  reins  and 
dismounted,  to  give  their  horses  rest.  This,  however,  the 
hardy  steeds  needed  but  little  ;  and  in  a  few  minutes  they  were 
again  in  the  saddle.  Hugh  was  anxious  to  reach  the  army, 
which  he  expected  to  find  at  Saltillo,  before  the  battle  which 
he  knew  was  about  to  take  place  ;  and  though  Allen's  increas- 
ing weakness  precluded  the  idea  of  his  joining  in  the  strife, 
he  was  equally  anxious  to  reach  a  place  of  rest. 

They  continued  to  skirt  the  plain,  riding  along  under  the 
broken  points  of  the  plateau,  for  four  or  five  Vioxus  \  v«\i^ii 


240  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


Bonaro  began  to  gaze  with  more  interest  upon  the  mountain 
through  which  he  expected  soon  to  find  a  pass.  They  had 
travelled  more  than  forty  miles,  and  were,  in  fact,  within  about 
five  miles  of  the  pass  they  were  seeking.  Riding  quietly  along, 
the  hoofs  of  their  horses  produced  no  sound  in  the  dust ;  they 
could  hear  even  the  wind  sighing  along  the  plain,  and  whisper- 
ing among  the  cactus  leaves.  The  anxiety  to  cross  the  ridge, 
and  the  search  for  the  passage,  made  them  silent  and  thought- 
ful. 

"  What  was  that  V  exclaimed  Hugh,  suddenly  pulling  up, 
and  listening  to  a  rumbling  sound,  which  rolled  down  the 
mountain  side  and  reverberated  in  the  gorges. 

**  The  battle  has  begun,''  said  Allen ;  "  that  was  a  heavy 
gun." 

**  Let  us  hasten  on,  then !"  exclaimed  Hugh,  striking  his  spurs 
into  his  horse.  "  At  least  we  know  where  we  are ;  Saltillo  lies 
directly  across  the  mountain,  and  Palomas  is  close  by." 

"  Look  this  way.  Seniors,'*  said  £onaro,  pointing  to  the  plain** 
"  Is  not  that  a  squadron  of  lancers  ?'* 

"  It  is,  by  Jove  !**  exclaimed  Hugh,  "  coming  right  upon  us 
too !     And  here  is  another  cloud  of  dust  I — ** 

"  And  behind  us  is  another,**  said  Catharina  quietly. 

"  Here  is  still  another  detachment,**  said  Allen,  pointing  to 
the  south.  "  They  are  all  around  us ;  we  must  take  to  the 
mountain.** 

**  Yes,'*  said  Hugh,  "and  quickly,  too,  for  that  gun  has  put 
these  fellows  behind  us  into  a  gallop.** 

As  he  spoke,  he  turned  his  horse  sharply  round  a  projecting 

point  and  galloped  in  between  it  and  another — the  two  forming 

a  kind  of  ravine  whose  \eve\  \>e^  w^s  <i^N«t^^  ^*\\.Vl  bright  y«N 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  241 


low  sand.  Up  this  they  galloped,  until  it  became  too  narrow  for 
them  to  ride  abreast ;  then  Hugh  led  the  party  in  single  file  for 
nearly  a  mile,  ascending  rapidly,  and  soon  compelled  to  slacken 
his  speed,  by  the  stones  that  encumbered  the  ground.  A  few 
hundred  yards  more  and  they  were  suddenly  brought  to  a  stand 
by  an  almost  perpendicular  bank  which  rose  directly  before  and 
on  each  side  of  them. 

'*  Curses  on  such  a  country  as  this  I"  exclaimed  Hugh  impa- 
tiently ;  '*  a  man  cannot  ride  a  mile  over  it,  without  being  stop- 
ped by  a  stone  wall  or  a  bottomless  ravine !" 

«  A  country  which  has  four  invading  armies  within  its  bo- 
som," said  Bonaro  sternly,  "  is  quite  sufficiently  cursed,  without 
receiving  maledictions  from  its  enemies." 

"You  are  right,"  said  Hugh,  frankly;  "forgive  my  impa- 
tience. I  fear  we  must  dismount.  Come,  there  is  no  time  to 
lose !" 

They  all  sprang  to  the  ground. 

"Hush!"  said  Catharina,  holding  up  her  finger.  "We  are 
pursued !" 

A  moment  afterwards  they  could  hear  the  hasty  footsteps  of 
many  horses,  beating  the  ground  but  a  few  hundred  yards  in 
their  rear,  and  rapidly  approaching  them. 

"Hurry!  hurry!"  Hugh  exclaimed.  "Let  us  get  up  the 
bank  !     They  cannot  scale  that  with  even  their  mustangs !" 

A  hasty  scramble  followed,  and  hurrying  feet  were  audible 

behind.      A  volley  of  escopets  was  fired,  and  the  horsemen 

rushed  forward  almost  against  the  precipice.     A  ball  struck 

Hugh  in  the  shoulder,  his  hold  gave  way  and  he  rolled  helpless 

and  bruised  to  the  bottom,  at  the  very  feet  of  his  enemies. 

Catharina  sawlii/22  fall  and  sprang  towards  him  *,  but  Yiei  iu^^x 

11 


242  TALBOT  AND  VEBNON. 

seized  her  by  the  arm  and  hurried  her  away  up  the  mountain. 
Allen  did  not  perceive  that  his  friend  was  not  with  them,  for 
several  moments ;  and  when  he  rushed  back  to  seek  him,  two 
stout  lancers  were  holding  him  upon  his  horse,  and  the  party 
were  galloping  down  the  ravine — their  speed  apparently  accel- 
erated by  the  sound  of  two  guns,  which  came  reverberating  from 
the  other  side  of  the  ridge. 

*' JEs  un  Americano?**  asked  the  captain  of  the  lancers. 
'*  Bind  him  and  come  on  quick!     We  shall  be  too  late  !*' 

Away  rode  the  party,  and  in  three  minutes  they  turned  a 
point  and  were  hid  from  view.  Hugh  was  a  prisoner  in  the 
hands  of  Mifion's  cavalry. 

Allen  turned  and  rejoined  Bonaro  and  his  daughter.  To  the 
frantic  question  of  the  latter  for  Hugh,  he  shook  his  head,  and 
the  three  hurried  away  up  the  mountain.  As  they  neared  the 
top  of  the  ridge  they  began  to  hear  musquetry ;  and  when  they 
stood  among  the  pines  on  the  summit,  the  setting  sun  was  pour- 
ing a  torrent  of  light  on  the  battle-field  of  Buena  Vista ! 


END  OF  BOOK   SECOND. 


BOOK    THIRD. 


CHAPTER    I. 

*<  Our  bugles  sang  truce,  for  the  night-cloud  had  lowered, 
And  the  lentiiiel  stars  set  their  watch  in  the  sky."— Campbbll. 

*<  If  we  are  marked  to  die,  we  are  enough 
To  do  our  country  loss  ;  and  if  to  live, 
The  fewer  men,  the  greater  share  of  honor.''— Heitrt  V. 

"  Now  blackand  deep  the  night  begins  to  falL"— Youno. 

**  My  plots  Cedl  short,  like  darts  which  rash  hands  throw."— Si»  Robert  Howard. 

It  was  the  evening  of  Monday,  the  twenty-second  day  of 
February,  1847,  with  one  exception,  the  greatest  of  our  na- 
tional anniversaries !  General  Taylor  had  fallen  back  on  the 
day  before,  from  Agua  Nueva,  and  was  now  posted,  with  five 
thousand  men,  at  the  rancho  of  Buena  Vista,  about  five  miles 
from  Saltillo— the  pass  of  Angastura  being  held  by  one  regi- 
ment, (the  first  Illinois  foot,)  one  mile  further  south,  on  the  San 
Luis  road.  In  front  of  this  position  at  the  distance  of  about  two 
miles,  lay  General  Santa  Anna,  with  twenty  thousand  men — an 
army  which  he  had  been  four  months  organizing  and  equipping, 
and  with  which  he  confidently  expected  completely  to  over- 
throw the  scanty  force  before  him. 

From  the  point  at  which  our  friends  reached  the  summit  of 
the  ridge,  the  mountain  descended  rapidly,  and  was  cut  up  by 
the  action  of  rains  into  ravines  and  ridges,  which  gradually  wi- 


244  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 

dened  as  they  approached  the  plateau.  When  the  declivity 
ended  the  plain  commenced  ;  but  entirely  across  this  plain  sev- 
eral of  the  ravines  continued,  until  they  discharged  themselves 
into  the  valley,  where  the  broken  plateau  suddenly  terminated 
in  rough,  precipitous  spurs.  Along  the  points  of  these  spurs, 
which  extended  into  the  valley  like  the  fingers  of  a  hand,  ran 
the  San  Luis  road,  and  beyond  that  was  the  valley  proper — cut 
up  into  a  honey-comb,  by  deep  and  crooked  arroyos  or  ditches 
often  forty  feet  deep  and  wholly  impassable.  At  the  foot  of  the 
acclivity,  the  ground  was  about  three  hundred  feet  above  the 
level  of  the  valley ;  but  by  a  regular  slope  it  reached  a  level  at 
the  road  of  not  more  than  half  that  elevation.  Upon  this  pla- 
teau, between  two  deep  ravines,  Taylor's  force  was  drawn  up ; 
its  right  at  the  Pass  of  Angastura  on  the  road  covered  by  one 
regiment  thrown  across  the  arroyos^  and  its  left  at  the  highest 
point  of  the  plain,  immediately  under  the  declivity  of  the  ridge. 
Santa  Anna  was  at  Encantada ;  his  infantry  massed  in  dark 
bodies  upon  some  wheat  fields,  in  a  dip  in  the  ground,  out  of 
range  of  the  American  shot;  and  his  cavalry  flanked  them  upon 
both  the  right  and  left ;  while  a  battery  of  sixteen  pounders  was 
erected  on  a  height  directly  in  &ont  of  the  left. 

Immediately  upon  reaching  the  raneho  of  Encalitada,  Santa 
Anna  had  perceived  that  Taylor's  line  was  not  long  enoi^h  to 
cover  the  height  on  his  left ;  and  at  once  appreciating  the  vital 
importance  of  the  point,  he  had  sent  Ampudia's  light  brigade 
to  occupy  it.  If  this  height  could  be  gained  and  held,  he 
would  have  a  plunging  shot  upon  the  American  line,  which 
he  would  rake  from  left  to  right.  A  battalion  of  rifles  was 
sent  to  resist  the  movement,  which  promised  to  turn  the  left; 
and  here  the  battle  was  opened.     The  musketry  our  friends  had 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  245 

heard,  was  the  conflict  between  these  forces— each  gradually 
climbing  the  mountain  in  the  effort  to  out-flank  the  other,  and 
slowly  approaching  each  other,  as  the  ravine  which  divided 
them  grew  narrower.  Had  they  continued  thus,  they  would, 
at  last,  have  met  face  to  face  at  the  head  of  the  ravine,  near 
the  top  of  the  ridge ;  but  night  was  now  approaching,  and  the 
fire  began  to  diminish.  A  shell  was  thrown  from  O'Brien's 
battery  among  the  masses  of  in£EUitry,  and  a  few  shots  were 
fired  from  a  battery  of  heavy  guns,  established  on  his  right  by 
Santa  Anna  ;  but  it  was  evident  that  no  battle  was  to  be  fought 
till  the  morrow.  Both  parties  were  fatigued^  and  needed  rest 
to  prepare  them  for  the  conflict  of  the  following  day.  The 
Mexicans  had  marched  near  thirty  miles  since  morning ;  and 
the  Americans,  having  marched  on  the  day  before  from  Agua 
Nueva,  had  been  up  the  most  of  the  night,  erecting  such  de- 
fences as  the  shortness  of  the  time  allowed.  The  position 
fnighth&we  been  made  impregnable — two  thousand  men  could 
have  made  it  so  in  five  days — but  there  were  no  five  days  to 
spare,  and  there  was  no  other  advantage  to  trust  to  than  the 
natural  roughness  of  the  ground.  The  neglect  to  occupy  the 
heights  upon  the  left,  had  almost  neutralized  even  this ;  and 
stubborn  courage  was  the  best  ground  for  hope. 

"  The  arbitrement"  bade  flBur  "  to  be  a  bloody  one  ;**  and,  as 
if  by  mutual  consent,  it  was  adjourned  to  the  morning.  When 
our  friends  gazed  down  upon  the  plain,  each  army  was  with- 
drawing to  its  lines — the  shots  on  the  mountain  were  gradually 
becoming  fewer,  and,  as  the  sun  went  down,  and  the  shades  of 
evening  began  to  fall,  a  stillness  as  peaceful  as  ever  settled 
upon  the  beautiful  valley.  This  was  broken  by  rich,  deep 
strains  of  music,  which  came  flpftti|ig,  mellowed  by  the  distance, 


<946  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 

to  the  very  top  of  the  moantain.  Both  armies  were  drawn  up 
for  evening  parade ;  and  many  a  heart  beat  proudly  in  response 
to  the  solenm  strains,  which  the  morrow  saw  cold  and  still,  and 
many  a  foot  trod  lightly  to  the  stirring  time,  and  bore  its  owner 
to  the  field,  but  brought  him  not  away !  The  parade  was  over, 
the  piquets  were  posted,  the  watchfires  built,  and  the  mantle 
of  night  enshrouded  the  hosts. 

Our  friends  gazed  in  silence  upon  the  striking  spectacle  before 
them,  until  the  view  became  indistinct ;  daylight  went  slowly 
out,  and  the  fires  began  to  assume  a  brighter  hue.  Catharioa 
had  seated  herself  upon  a  rock,  and  was  singing  in  low,  mourn- 
ful tones,  while  her  eyes  wandered,  uninterested,  by  the  gay 
banners,  and  regardless  of  the  flashing  arms.  Her  father  was 
leaning  with  folded  arms  against  a  pine,  and  looking  regretfully 
upon  the  pomp  beneath ;  while  Vernon  had  thrown  himself, 
weary  and  exhausted,  upon  the  ground,  though  he  still  watched 
eagerly  the  movements  of  the  masses  below. 

"  To-morrow  promises  to  be  a  bloody  day,"  said  Bonaro,  at 
last  breaking  silence.     '<  I  wish  we  could  reach  the  city." 

"  Can  you  not  go  to  the  camp  with  me  ?"  asked  Vernon. 
But  the  old  man  shook  his  head  and  pointed  to  Catharina,  who 
sat  absorbed  in  her  own  meditations. 

<*  And  besides,"  said  he,  "  it  is  a  place- as  unfit  for  me  as  for 
her." 

"  I  think  it  doubtful  whether  you  could  pass  the  lines  at  this 
hour,"  rejoined  Vernon,  *«  and  to  be  stopped  at  a  guardhouse 
would  not  be  pleasant,  much  less  to  pass  the  night  in  it." 

*?  But  can  we  not  pass  here  to  the  right  ?" 

M I  think  not — the  lines  seem  to  cover  the  whole  valley ;  and 

« 

to»night  no  one  wiU  be  pern\'\UeA  \.o  ^%a,\  ^m  wwe/' 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  247 


<*  Then  we  must  pass  the  night  on  the  mountain/'  said  Bo- 
naro ;  "  for  I  cannot  think  of  exposing  Catharina  to  insult.'' 

"  Let  us  seek  some  shelter,  then,"  said  Allen ;  "  this  wind 
begins  to  feel  cold." 

The  day  had  been  warm,  pleasant,  and  bright ;  but  as  the 
sun  went  down,  the  wind  began  to  rise,  and  breaking  in  large, 
fleecy  rifts  from  the  mass  of  vapor  about  the  summit  of  the 
western  ridges,  cold,  pale  clouds  began  to  float  across  the  val- 
ley. The  pines  waved  painfully  in  the  blast,  and  each  moment 
their  sighing  grew  louder.  Clouds  of  dust  were  hurried  along 
the  plain,  and  soon  a  keen,  cold  mist  began  to  drive  through 
the  air.  The  wind  continued  to  rise,  and  the  fleecv  clouds 
grew  thicker  and  darker  ;  and  in  the  valley  the  mist  became  a 
rain.  The  moon  was  visible  at  intervals,  as  the  heavy  vapors 
were  broken  by  the  fkst-increasing  gale,  and  driven  rapidly 
along  the  sky  ;  and  the  silver  orb  seemed  hastening  to  her  set- 
ting, to  avoid  the  sight  of  blood.  An  occasional  flash  broke 
the  gloom  upon  the  mountain  side  ;  and  now  and  then,  as  the 
wind  lulled,  could  be  heard  the  rolling  of  artillery  wagons  and 
the  tramp  of  horsemen  assuming  their  positions.  Watchfires 
were  here  and  there  visible,  now  blazing  high,  and  anon  almost 
extinguished  by  a  gust  of  wind.  It  was  a  chill,  comfortless 
night,  and  the  armies  bivouaced  upon  the  ground. 

**  Come,  Catharina,"  said  Bonaro,  rousing  her,  **  we  must 
find  some  place  of  shelter."  He  took  her  by  the  arm,  and  fol- 
lowing Vernon,  led  her  some  distance  down  the  mountain. 

"  You  are  not  going  to  the  camp  ?"  she  asked. 

"  No,  not  to-night,"  he  replied.  "  Can  you  pass  a  night  on 
the  mountain  with  Mr.  Vernon  and  me  V^ 


248  TALBOT  AND  VSBKON. 

«  O !  yes/  the  replied ;  "  it  will  not  hurt  me  if  you  can  en- 
dure it     But  what  will  Seftor  Vernon  do?" 

*'  I  ahall  remain  with  you,  sefiora/'  eaid  the  latter,  '*  to  pro- 
tect you  if  any  of  our  men  should  climb  the  mountain.  1 
wish  you  had  a  better  protector,  or,  what  were  still  better,  that 
you  needed  no  protection." 

They  passed  on  in  silence  for  near  a  quarter  of  a  mile,  when 
they  came  to  the  break  in  the  rocks  at  the  head  of  the  ravine 
across  which  the  skirmishers  were  fighting.  The  water,  where 
it  plunged  down  the  rocks,  had  washed  deep  into  the  moun- 
tain, making  a  chasm  with  almost  perpendicular  sides ;  and  at 
the  bottom  the  rock  was  worn  into  a  kind  of  basin,  deeper  than 
the  bed  of  the  ravine  below.  Having  carefully  descended  to 
this  shelter,  they  found  themselves  entirely  protected  from  the 
wind,  and  beyond  the  reach  of  even  the  mist.  On  casting 
about,  too,  Vernon  found  a  great  quantity  of  dry  branches,  and 
several  trunks  of  palms,  which  the  water  had  washed  down ; 
and  in  a  few  minutes  he  had  a  cheerful  fire  blazing  up  against 
the  rock.  He  took  care  to  build  it  so  that  it  could  be  seen  only 
from  above,  and  from  a  very  narrow  space  on  the  plain.  They 
had  nothing  to  eat  except  the  remnants  of  their  very  frugal 
dinner,  and  no  extra  clothing  but  the  ordinary  Mexican  blanket 
which  each  of  the  men  carried  over  his  shoulders.  One  of  these 
was  given  to  Catharina,  and  beneath  the  other  the  two  men 
were  soon  sound  asleep.  The  situaticm  was  too  novel  to  Ca- 
tharina to  allow  of  her  sleeping  speedily,  and  she  was  far  too 
anxious  about  Hugh  to  lose  her  consciousness,  until  nature 
should  sink  beneath  fatigue.  For  an  hour  or  two  she  leaned 
upon  her  arm,  quietly  and  unconsciously  feeding  the  fire  with 
the  twigs  which  lay  beside  it.    ^^c^^  ^x^d  \\va\i^htfully  and 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  249 


sadly  into  the  blaze ;  but  her  spirit  was  wandering,  and  she 
knew  not  where  she  was.  Even  anxiety,  however,  at  last  gives 
way  to  fatigue.  She  ceased  to  place  the  twigs  within  the 
blaze,  her  hand  sank  upon  the  serape  in  which  she  was  wrap- 
ped, her  head  drooped  upon  her  arm,  and  her  eyes  closed.  Once 
or  twice  she  opened  them  for  a  moment,  but  at  last  they  closed 
in  quiet,  dreamless  sleep.  The  fire  went  gradually  down ;  a 
little  blaze  sprang  up  from  the  end  of  a  twig,  and  lit  up  the 
cavern  for  a  few  moments — a  wandering  breath  of  air  extin- 
guished it,  and  the  travel-worn  party  were  at  rest. 

In  the  meantime,  Thorpe  paced  quietly  up  and  down  his 

regimental  parade  ground,  revolving,  even  at  that  hour,  his 

tOTtuous  schemes.     He  was  playing  for  a  high  stake.     The  hand 

of  Cara  Talbot  once  his,  her  wealth  would  elevate  him  above 

the  necessity  of  professional  labor.     He  would  be  at  liberty  to 

bend  all  the  power  of  his  strong  mind  to  the  pursuit  of  high 

political  distinction;   and   no   man,   conscious   of  his  mental 

energy,  could  doubt  of  complete  success.     His  dearest  ambition 

was  to  be  enrolled  among  the  distinguished,  to  be  recognized 

among  the   master-minds  which  create   and   control   opinion. 

This  end  he  was  determined  to  accomplish  ;  and  when  a  mind 

of  his  force  determines,  let  the  weak  and  irresolute  stand  aside  I 

He  made  but  one  mistake  ;  but  alas  !  that  was  a  vital  one  !  He 

bad  an  end  in  view,  and  he  saw  clearly  what  it  was.     To  its 

accomplishment  he  brought  strong  will,  intense  activity  and 

superior  intellect.     But  he  forgot,  or  rather  he  never  knew,  that 

honesty  and  sincerity  are  indispensable  to  success  ;  that,  if  they 

were  not — if,  by  crooked  policy  and  superior  intelligence,  he  at 

last  triumphed — his  victory  would  be  worthless,  because  he 

Could  not  feel  tba^  It  had  been  merited. 
11* 


850  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 

The  first  step  was  wealth.  He  had  nearly  secured  this,  when 
an  intruder — those  who  interfere  with  the  schemes  of  bad  men 
are  all  intruders — had  stepped  between  him  and  what  he  con- 
sidered his.  He  had  prepared  a  scheme  to  recover  his  footing, 
when  another  intruder  had  turned  his  engine  to  his  own  de- 
struction. This  last  he  was  resolved  to  destroy ;  for  he  had  the 
additional  spur  of  self-defence  to  urge  him  on  ;  and  it  was  over 
his  efforts  to  do  so  that  he  was  now  brooding. 

In  one  of  the  turns  of  his  walk,  he  approached  a  fire,  around 
which  were  assembled  several  soldiers,  talking  to  another  who 
was  in  charge  of  a  prisoner  just  taken.  The  men  stood  back 
as  Thorpe  approached,  and  he  caught  a  sight  of  the  Mexican's 
fece.  He  wore  his  arm  in  a  sling,  and  his  face  seemed  to  have 
been  burnt  by  powder  ;  while  bis  short-cropped  hair  was  singed 
and  crisped  apparently  by  fire.  One  glance  satisfied  Thorpe 
who  stood  before  him ;  but  not  a  sign  did  he  give  of  his  re- 
cognition. 

**  Where  was  he  taken  V*  he  asked  calmly  of  the  scddier. 

**  At  the  piquet  on  the  road,  sir/'  said  the  soldier 

*'  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  him  ?" 

*<The  colonel  ordered  me  to  take  him  to  the  right  flank 
guard.'* 

Thorpe  said  no  more ;  but  a  glance  of  his  expressive  eye  gave 
a  sign  to  the  Mexican,  and  he  turned  away. 

About  an  hour  afterwards,  he  slowly  approached  the  rancho 
in  which  the  guard  were  quartered,  and  asked  for  the  captain 
commanding.     That  officer  presented  himself. 

"  I  come  from  General  Wool,"  commenced  Thorpe,  "  to  make 
an  effort  to  get  some  information  from  a  prisoner.'* 
**  Be  good  enough  to  waWi  1\l\&  ^^^^  xXi^w^"  said  the  captain, 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  261 


leading  him  into  a  room  without  fire  or  candle,  adjoining  the 
guard-room.  The  Mexican  raised  himself  from  a  corner  as  the 
door  opened,  and  when  a  candle  was  brought,  he  sat  leaning 
against  the  wall. 

"  Do  you  wish  to  be  alone  with  him,  colonel  ?*'  asked  the 
captain. 

^*  Such  are  my  orders,"  said  the  colonel,  and  the  officer 
retired. 

"  What  does  this  mean?"  Thorpe  commenced,  as  soon  as  the 
door  was  closed.     "  Have  you  had  a  fight  for  it  ?" 

"  It  means,"  said  the  Mexican,  "  that  your  work  is  done  at 
last,  and  well  done,  too  : — Garracho .'" 

"  Tell  me  how  it  was,"  said  Thorpe  smiling.  "  You  seem  to 
have  been  near  enough  to  see  it  all." 

"I  was,"  he  replied  with  a  grimace,  "a  little  too  near  !" 

He  then  proceeded  to  narrate  all  the  events  which  had  taken 
place  at  Rinconada,  with  which  the  reader  is  acquainted,  and 
concluded  by  announcing  that  the  final  explosion  had  killed  not 
only  Manning  but  Vernon,  Bonaro  and  his  daughter  and  all  who 
were  in  or  near  the  house,  together  with  seven  men  who  had 
been  posted  to  cut  off  their  retreat.  He  further  stated  that  only 
himself  and  three  others,  of  more  than  thirty  men,  had  escaped 
being  blown  into  eternity ;  and^  that,  of  the  four,  he  was  the 
least  hurt. 

"A  fortunate  explosion,"  said  Thorpe  coolly,  "though  like 
all  good  fortune,  not  complete.  I  don't  see  why  the  other  four 
could  not  have  been  blown  to  the  devil,  as  well  as  the  thirty — 
especially  since  the  most  guilty  of  the  whole  party  was  one  of 
them."  This  was  spoken  in  English;  but  the  man  smiled  as 
if  he  understood  it,  and  made  no  reply. 


35d  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 

•*  Well/'  said  Thorpe,  after  a  pause,  resuming  the  Spanish 
*<  I  suppose  you  have  got  yourself  taken  prisoner  in  order  to  ask 
for  your  reward." 

"  St,  Se^or"  the  man  replied.  v 

*'  If  you  keep  your  own  counsel  you  shall  have  it  as  soon  as  1 
can  get  you  liberated — ^probably  the  day  after  to-morrow. ''  The 
fiellow  attempted  to  speak,  but  Thorpe  waved  his  hand  and 
passed  out. 

**  Can  you  get  anything  out  of  him  ?''  asked  the  captain. 

"  Nothing  of  importance,"  he  replied  ;  and  a  few  minutes, 
afterwards  he  was  slumbering  calmly  upon  his  bed. 


i 


CHAPTER    II. 

**  The  absent  danger  greater  still  appears  ; 
Less  fears  he,  who  is  near  the  thing  he  fears."—DAtf  ibl's  Clbofatba. 

^  I  shall  desire  you,  sir,  to  giye  me  leave 
To  have  free  speech  with  you.''^MEAiuRE  roa  MxAiuac. 

The  eve  of  a  battle,  viewed  from  a  peaceful  fireside,  is  a  seri- 
ous  thought.  The  reflection  that  on  the  morrow  the  <<  brittle 
thread  of  life  may  be  snapped" — that  we  may  be  called  upon  to 
prove  the  "  dread  unknown,"  without  warning  and  by  violence 
— that  the  air  will  be  filled  with  random  missiles,  any  one  of 
which  may  send  us,  **  with  all  our  imperfections  on  our  heads," 
before  a  tribunal  from  which  there  is  no  appeal — would  seem  to 
be  a  thought  to  temper  and  subdue  our  minds.  But,  generally, 
it  is  not  so.  Those  upon  whom  devolves  the  responsibility  of 
ordering  the  battle,  and  those  to  whom  the  thought  of  death  al- 
ways comes  clothed  in  terrors,  feel  anxiety  for  the  coming  day. 
But  those  upon  whom  rests  the  labor  of  the  conflict,  those  who 
will  have  to  bear  the  «*  burthen  and  the  heat  of  the  day,"  sel- 
dom exhibit  anything  like  consciousness  of  the  grave  concerns 
of  the  morrow. 

There  is  something  in  the  very  thought  of  deadly  conflict  and 
mortal  risks  to  come,  which  exhilarates  the  spirits  and  defeats 
the  gravity  of  reflection.  If  those  who  are  to  perish  were  al- 
ready marked  and  known,  it  would  be  far  different — ^foi  all  who 


254  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 

were  doomed,  and  all  who  were  to  be  saved,  would  be  alike 
gloomy.  But  the  risk  is  to  be  encountered  by  all  alike :  each 
man  of  the  whole  host  must  take  his  chance.  And  it  is  pre- 
cisely because  there  is  a  chance,  that  hope  is  more  active  than 
at  any  other  time.  Some  one  of  each  group,  some  one  perhaps 
of  each  couple,  must  go  down ;  but  which  is  it  ?  It  may  be 
you,  or  it  may  be  I.  In  all  human  probability,  at  least  one  of 
each  group  will  escape ;  but  who  it  is  none  can  tell.  When  it 
is  not  known  who  it  is,  neither  can  it  be  known  who  it  is  not. 
Each  hopes  that  he  will  be  among  the  fortunate.  Instinct 
teaches  him  to  even  believe  that  he  will  escape,  though  not  to 
hope  that  his  companion  will  perish.  Uncertainty  and  danger 
combine  to  elevate  the  spirits ;  and  when  one  inexperienced 
would  expect  prayer  and  preparation  and  sober  reflection,  all  is 
mirth  and  gaiety  and  reckless  jollity. 

Such  was  the  case  in  the  American  camp  at  Buena  Vista; 
and  as  Thorpe  returned  along  the  Unes,  he  saw  assembled  at 
each  fire,  a  noisy  group  of  careless  soldiers,  talking  in  no  sombre 
tones  of  the  expected  victory  of  the  morrow.  Not  one  of  them 
seemed  to  think  of  the  possibility  of  death  ;  not  one  seemed  to 
reflect  that  he  might,  ere  another  sun  should  set,  be  lying  cold 
and  stiff,  "  with  his  feet  to  the  foe ;"  not  one  of  them  seemed  to 
give  the  smallest  weight  to  the  overwhelming  numbers  of  their 
enemies ;  and  all  were  apparently  as  sure  of  the  success  of  their 
arms,  as  if  the  crown  were  already  placed  upon  the  victor. 
Nor  was  this  mere  bravado,  assumed  to  cover  trepidation  or  ap- 
prehension; it  was  a  cool,  settled  and  logical  conclusion,  to 
which  each  man  had  arrived  by  his  own  course  of  reasoning. 

Most  men  reason  from  the  past  to  the  future ;  most  men  do 
so  even  unconsciously.    "WVi^Xevei  fuis  been  frequently  and  un- 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  255 

interruptedly,  is  likely  to  continue  to  be.  There  may  be  a  turn- 
ing point,  but  we  never  have  reason  to  believe  that  it  has  ac- 
tually arrived,  until  it  is  passed.  Our  arms  had  been  victorious 
in  every  field ;  they  had  not  been  checked  anywhere  for  a  single 
day  :  the  tide  of  conquest  had  rolled,  like  the  waters  of  a  mighty 
river,  almost  without  a  ripple ;  whatever  had  attempted  to  op- 
pose its  progress,  had  been  remorselessly  swept  away  ;  who  was 
to  say  that  here,  upon  this  elevated  plain,  men  who  had  march- 
ed fifteen  hundred  miles  to  battle,  were  to  be  the  first  American 
army  defeated  in  Mexico  ?  They  could  not  and  they  would 
not  believe  it ! 

Physical  force,  numerical  power,  is  absolutely  necessary ;  but 
*'  the  race  is  not  always  to  the  swift,  nor  the  battle  to  the 
strong ;"  there  is  something  else  necessary  also — nay  even 
more  necessary  than  strength  of  numbers.  Moral  force  is  a  far 
greater  power  than  gunpowder  or  masses  of  men  ;  the  'prestige 
of  victory,  the  power  which  carried  Napoleon  over  half  Eurox)e 
as  upon  a  flowing  tide,  nerves  the  arm  of  the  soldier,  steadies  his 
courage,  gives  him  faith,  and  wins  the  day ! 

Had  a  single  column  of  all  that  traversed  Mexico  been  seri- 
ously checked — had  a  single  fight  been  lost,  the  armies  sent  to 
invade  that  country  had  never  returned,  except  as  did  the 
wrecks  of  the  grand  army  of  Russia  I  Victory  was  not  only 
important,  but  it  was  vitally  necessary  to  every  column.  Had 
the  movement  of  Arista,  in  Taylor's  rear,  before  Palo  Alta, 
been  successful,  Texas  would  have  been  overrun.  Had  the 
battle  of  Monterey  been  lost,  the  valley  of  the  Rio  Grande 
would  have  been  swept  of  every  American.  Had  the  battle  of 
Buena  Vista  been  a  defeat,  the  posts  from  Saltillo  to  Brazos 
would  have  been  taken  in  detail,  the  army  would  bave  \>eeiu 


256  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 

cut  to  pieces,  and  we  would  have  lost  every  advantage  we  had 
gained.  Santa  Anna  would,  moreover,  have  been  able  to  re- 
turn to  Cerro  Gordo,  with  an  army  having  the  immense  advan- 
tage of  being  victorious,  and  not  defeated  ;  the  best  army  raised 
in  Mexico  during  the  war,  would  have  been  an  unit,  instead 
of  being  disorganized,  fragmentary,  and  disheartened.  Scott 
would  have  been  repulsed  from  Cerro  Gordo,  even  if  he  had 
ever  got  so  far,  and,  perhaps,  to-day  we  would  have  been  still 
striving  to  plant  the  "  stars  and  stripes"  upon  the  domes  of  the 
<*  Halls  of  the  Montezumas !'' 

And  so,  too,  of  Scott's  unparalleled  march  from  Vera  Cruz 
to  Mexico— the  best  executed  military  march  in  modern  times. 
A  single  defeat  would  have  ruined  him — a  single  check  to  the 
tide,  and  the  ebb  would  have  carried  him  into  the  sea.  It  was 
only  the  prestige  of  the  American  name  which  kept  down  the 
population  of  the  country ;  it  was  fear  that  opened  the  roads, 
and  kept  the  people  at  home.  That  once  destroyed,  and  not  a 
pass,  not  a  defile  nor  a  bridge  on  the  road  would  have  been  left 
undefended — not  a  rock,  not  a  tree  would  have  been  without 
its  concealed  defender,  to  annoy  and  harrass  the  way-worn  sol- 
dier— not  a  cliff,  not  a  precipice,  nor  a  mountain  under  which 
the  road  led  them,  but  would  have  served  as  a  secure  height, 
from  which  rocks  and  missiles  of  every  kind  would  have  been 
showered  down  upon  a  defeated  and  retreating  army.  We 
needed  "  the  fortune  which,  like  a  star,  moves  ever  onward ;" 
and  it  was  a  blessing,  both  to  us  and  to  our  enemies,  that  we 
had  it. 

It  was  the  consciousness  of  this  fortune  which  elevated  the 
morale  of  our  armies  ;  and,  at  the  time  of  which  we  speak,  it 
w&a  even  stronger  tbanvl  Vi^ift  >oe^Ti^\ii!Ci^\  i^yt  then  it  was  an 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  267 


enthusiasm,  not  a  calculation.  ^  Men  went  into  battle  shouting 
and  casting  their  hats  into  the  air,  at  the  sight  of  an  enemy 
whom  they  considered  already  vanquished ;  and  with  the  stern 
passions  of  the  conflict,  was  mingled  a  compassion  for  his  mis- 
fortune, even  before  it  had  befallen  him.  To  such  a  dangerous 
pitch  of  self-confidence  were  the  Americans  worked  up,  that 
they  considered  it  a  kind  of  presumption  in  the  Mexicans  to 
dream  of  resisting  them  ;  and  they  pitied  their  blindness  while 
they  chastised  their  folly.  It  must  not  be  denied  that  this  was 
a  state  of  feeling  by  no  means  desirable ;  for  in  such  circum- 
stances men  are  more  easily  panic-struck  than  at  any  other 
time.  A  serious  resistance,  approaching  an  equal  contest,  as- 
tonishes as  well  as  checks  them ;  and  nothing  will  make  men 
fly  so  quick  as  taking  them  by  surprise.  And  this  fortifies  our 
remarks  above  ;  for  it  made  uninterrupted  success,  which  alone 
could  prevent  panic,  still  more  important. 

But  we  wander  from  our  story.  % 

A  large  fire  was  burning  in  front  of  the  regimental  encamp- 
ment, as  Colonel  Thorpe  passed  in ;  and  around  th^  fire  sat 
several  officers.  The  wind  was  blowing  cold  and  gusty,  sway- 
ing the  blaze  to  and  fro,  and  covering  each  in  his  turn  with 
dust  and  ashes.  They  were,  however,  all  protected  by  Mex- 
ican blankets,  which  they  wore  close  around  their  necks ;  and 
none  of  them  were  so  unused  to  dust  as  to  be  made  uncomfor- 
table. They  were  talking  rather  more  seriously  than  the  groups 
of  soldiers  near  them  ;  for  each  felt  a  degree  of  responsibility 
resting  on  his  own  shoulders;  especially  a  thin- faced  Brevet- 
second  Lieutenant,  who  was  solemnly  smoking  a  very  dirty  pipe. 
The  Major,  a  heavy,  square-set  man,  of  about  forty,  with  high 
cheek  bones,  and  exceedingly  small  eyes,  was  giving  the  group 


268  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


an  account  of  his  arduous  campaigns  in  Indian  wars  on  the 
western  frontier  ;  and  as  he  narrated  story  after  story  of  hand- 
to-hand  fights,  and  interminahle  marches  through  hogs  and 
forests,  he  took  especial  pains  to  depreciate  hy  comparison  the 
hardships  of  the  present  expedition.  The  narrow-faced  Lieute- 
nant,  who  had  never  smelt  gunpowder,  listened  w^ith  an  atten- 
tion only  equalled  by  his  assiduity  to  his  black  clay  pipe.  And 
as  the  major's  stories  gradually  approached  the  breathless  poii^ 
the  whifis  became  longer  and  deeper,  and  the  Lieutenant's  eyes 
gradually  rose  from  the  fire,  where  they  had  been  resting,  with 
a  gaze  of  deepening  interest.  The  other  officers  ^were  older 
men,  and  did  not,  therefore,  think  it  necessary  to  believe  all  the 
old  soldier  might  think  proper  to  tell  them.  He  had,  however, 
too  much  the  reputation  of  a  fire-eater,  to  allow  of  their  ques- 
tioning  his  veracity ;  and  they,  therefore,  listened  attentively, 
and  gazed  gravely  into  the  fire — except  when  a  gust  of  wind 
blew  the  blaze  into  their  faces,  and  made  them  suddenly  spring 
back. 

The  conversation — if  so  it  could  be  called,  where  there  was 
only  one  speaker — at  last  flagged,  as  such  conversations  will ; 
and  one  of  the  group  took  advantage  of  the  close  of  a  more  than 
usually  bloody  story,  to  draw  his  blanket  round  him,  and  retire 
to  his  quarters.     He  stopped  at  the  door  of  his  tent,  and  gazed 
up  the  mountain.     The  fires  in  the  camp  had  gone  down,  the 
groups  of  soldiers  had  gradually  dispersed,  and  the  host  was  as 
still  as  death.     A  solitary  fire,  far  up  the  mountain,  visible  from 
the  line  in  which  he  stood  alone,  attracted  his  notice.     It  was 
small  and  distant — so  small  as  to  appear  almost  like  a  lonely 
-star  in  the  gloom — but  now  and  then  it  blazed  up  brighter,  as 
if  Bome  one  were  feeding  *\l  w'wVv  Ivx^X  \  ^tA  ^^^  xJaaui^ht  that 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  259 


£Bur  up  the  mountain,  above  the  lines  of  soldiers  who  were 
slumbering  below,  some  solitary  watcher  lay  waiting  for  the 
morrow,  had  an  indescribable  interest  for  him.  Had  he  known 
-who  was  there,  his  interest  would  have  been  doubled ;  for  it 
"was  a  conjecture  about  the  fate  of  Manning  and  Vernon  which 
had  commenced  the  conversation  at  t^e  fire. 

Lieutenant  Clayton,  whom  the  reader  will  recollect  we 
named  in  the  last  chapter  of  the  first  Book,  had  but  a  few  days 
before  returned  from  the  States,  where  he  had  been  on  furlough 
to  recover  his  health  ;  and  he  had  now  in  his  trunk  letters  for 
both  the  missing.  One  of  them  was  from  Cara  Talbot,  an- 
nouncing to  Allen  that  her  father  accused  him  oi  forgery ^  and 
calling  upon  him  to  return  and  clear  up  the  calumny.  Clayton 
had  taken  charge  of  this  letter  from  the  hand  of  Cara  herself. 
He  was  an  old  admirer  of  hers,  and  a  man  of  kindly  feelings  and 
superior  mind.  He  was  a  lawyer,  too,  of  considerable  eminence, 
though  of  indolent  habits  ;  and  had  been  induced  to'  join  the  ex- 
pedition for  the  sake  of  novelty.  He  had  formed  this  resolution 
too  late  to  secure  a  high  position,  and  had  therefore  contented 
himselt  with  a  simple  lieutenancy,  whose  freedom  from  respon- 
sibility pleased  him  better  than  the  honor  of  a  higher  post.  The 
army  was  full  of  men  of  this  sort ;  he  was  merely  one  of  a  very 
numerous  class,  who  left  respectable  positions  and  lucrative 
business,  to  share  in  the  privations  and  dangers  of  an  arduous 
campaign. 

Clayton's  calm,  thoughtful  and  acute  mind  had  penetrated 
Cara's  feelings  ih  an  interview  of  only  a  few  minutes.  He  saw 
through  her  agitation  and  eagerness  to  hear  from  Vernon ;  and 
having  heard  the  story  of  the  forgery,  which  old  Manning  had 
taken  care  to  circulate,  he  at  once  divined  the  reason  w\i7  Cai^ 


260  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


was  so  anxious  to  have  him  advise  Vernon  to  return  withoat 
delay.  But,  although  he  had  himself  been  once  ambitious  of  an 
interest  in  her  heart,  the  discovery  that  she  loved  Allen,  only 
increased  his  desire  to  serve  him ;  and  he  had  returned  to  the 
army,  determined  not  only  to  deliver  Cara's  letter,  but  to  do  all 
in  his  power  to  serve  Allen  also.  When  he  reached  Saltillo  our 
friends  were  absent  on  their  unlucky  reconnaissance;  and  their 
protracted  absence,  after  the  return  of  the  party,  had  forced  theii 
friends  to  the  conclusion  that  they  were  either  killed  or  taken. 
Other  letters  brought  by  him  had  contained  the  story  of  the 
forgery ;  and  it  soon  became  generally  known  in  the  camp. 
From  being  canvassed  among  so  many  men  it  became  another 
story ;  the  gossips  of  the  camp  began  to  doubt  whether  he  was 
dead ;  they  began  to  suspect  that  he  had  purposely  escaped  to 
the  enemy ;  and  some  even  went  so  far  as  to  say  that  our  friend 
Hugh  had  gone  over  with  him. 

Clayton  and  Hugh's  friends  combatted  these  rumors  as  well  as 
they  could ;  but  they  might  as  well  have  combatted  the  * 'Nor- 
thers,*' that  swept  the  valley  where  they  lay.  From  being  a 
mere  surmise,  the  story  became  first  a  conjecture,  then  a  ru- 
mor, then  a  piece  of  news,  then  a  matter  of  certainty  to  all  who 
did  not  know  the  circumstances.  It  was  even  said  that  authen- 
tic intelligence  had  been  received  at  Head  Quarters;  that  our 
unlucky  friends  -had  been  seen,  cheek  by  jowl  with  General 
Miiion  at  Encarnacion.  Rumors  in  a  camp,  fly  almost  as  fast 
and  increase  almost  as  rapidly,  as  in  a  small  town ;  and  the 
second  day  after  the  surmise  was  breathed  at  the  Right-Flank 
Guard-House,  it  was  told  at  the  Left-Flank  as  a  positive  cer- 
tainty, together  with  the  channel  through  which  the  informa" 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  261 


tion  bad  been  received,  and  tbe  precise  spot  where  the  deser- 
ters bad  been  seen. 

In  one  particular,  Clayton  was  disposed  to  agree  with 
the  story-mongers;  that  our  friends  were  not  dead  or  taken. 
He  knew  them  both,  and  was  unwilling  to  believe  that  two 
men,  as  determined  and  wary,  would  fall  into  a  snare.  But 
their  protracted  absence  had  almost  overcome  his  hopes.  Anx- 
iety took  the  place  of  hope,  and  fear  for  their  fate  succeeded. 
They  had  now  been  gone  more  than  four  weeks,  and  no  news 
<^  them  had  been  received.  The  army  had  moved  several 
times  between  Agua  Nueva  and  Buena  Vista,  and  it  was  now 
at  the  latter  place  with  the  enemy  before  it.  Clayton  had  at 
last  given  up  seeing  the  wanderers,  aud  gloomy  and  dejected, 
he  had  on  that  very  day  placed  their  letters  in  his  trunk,  there 
to  remain  until  his  return  home. 

Let  not  the  reader  think  it  strange  that  Clayton — a  man 
whose  intimacy  with  our  friends  was  not  such  as  to  bring  him 
hitherto  clearly  within  the  compass  of  our  story — should  take 
so  much  interest  in  their  fortunes,  when  they  were  already  al- 
most forgotten  by  those  far  more  near  to  them.  Clayton  was  a 
generous  and  feeling  man — ^not  a  man  of  violent  passions  and 
burning  impulses — in  his  heart  was  the  true  "  milk  of  human 
kindness.''  In  his  calm  way,  he  loved  Cara  Talbot,  and  he 
knew  she  loved  Allen  Vernon.  He  did  not,  as  many  men 
would  have  done,  rejoice  at  the  misfortune  which  he  now  be- 
lieved had  befallen  his  rival — such  absurd  and  inconsistent  jea- 
lousy was  no  part  of  his  nature.  He  was  eminently  unselfish, 
as  we  shall  have  occasion  to  show.  He  loved  Cara  Talbot, 
and  so  wished  her  to  be  hdppy.  He  knew  lhat»  were  Vernon 
lost,  she  would  not  he  so,  and,  therefore^  felt  interested  \n  Vvvs 


262  TALBOT  AND  VEKNON. 


safety.  Manning  be  knew,  also,  as  a  frank,  generous,  straight 
forward  soldier,  and  warm,  manly  friend.  He  was  of  this 
stamp  himself — alas !  that  such  should  be  so  few  ! — and  a  sym- 
pathy in  manliness  makes  strong  friendship. 

He  stood,  then,  at  the  door  of  his  tent,  gazing  at  the  fire  far 
up  the  mountain,  and  thinking — strange  coincidence !— of  him 
who  lay  beside  that  beacon,  slumbering  heavily  after  the  fa- 
tigues of  the  day.  There  was  nothing  strange  or  unusual  in  a 
fire  on  the  mountain — not  a  night  had  passed,  perhaps  for 
months,  without  the  same  appearance  ;  but  now,  it  shone  calm 
and  lonely  over  a  field  where  slept  nearly  thirty  thousand  men : 
it  burned  above  the  plain  which  the  morrow  would  see  covered 
with  wounded  and  slain,  and  its  calm,  solitary  light  seemed 
strange  and  almost  unearthly.  What  could  any  one  be  doing 
there  at  such  a  time  ?  he  thought ;  and  who  would  dare  build 
a  fire  so  near  both  armies  ? 

He  was  leaning  against  the  tent-pole,  and  puzzling  himself 
with  these  questions,  when  some  one  came  round  the  corner  of 
the  marquee^  and  stopped,  as  if  wishing  to  avoid  observation, 
or  seeking  some  one  within. 

"  Who  goes  there  ?'*  asked  Clayton,  sharply. 

"  Corporal  Brady,  sir,"  said  the  man,  advancing  with  a  salute, 
"  and  I  was  looking  for  you." 

"  Come  in,  then,"  said  Clayton,  entering  the  tent. 

"  I  cannot  stay,  sir,"  said  the  Corporal.  "  I  am  on  guard, 
and  have  permission  to  be  absent  only  a  few  minutes.  I  want- 
ed to  have  come  sooner,  but  was  on  duty,  and  have  just  been 
relieved.  If  you  will  walk  to  the  guard-house  with  me,  sir," 
he  continued,  cautiously  advancing,  and  speaking  in  a  low  tone, 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  263 


"  I  think  I  can  get  you  some  tidings  of  our  friends  Manning 
and  Vernon." 

"  Can  you  ?"  exclaimed  Clayton.  "  Lead  on,  then — I'll  go 
with  you,  at  once." 

"  The  Corporal  turned  in  silence,  and  walked  rapidly  back 
towards  the  guard,  eagerly  followed  by  Clayton. 


CHAPTER    III. 

**  Thoa  art  a  traitor  and  a  miscreant"— Rich akd  II. 

"  By  heaven  there's  treason  in  his  aspect"— Shiklct, 

*<  Foul  deeds  will  rise, 

Though  all  the  earth  o*erwhelm  them,  to  men's  ejes.'' — Hamlet. 

"  I  OVERHEARD  a  conversatioD,"  said  the  Corporal,  as  they 
approached  the  guard,  "  between  Colonel  Thorpe — " 

"  Ha !"  exclaimed  Clayton. 

"  You  suspect  him  V*  said  the  Corporal,  stopping  on  the 
brink  of  a  little  stream  which  crossed  the  road. 

"  Yes,''  said  the  Lieutenant ;  **  and  I  saw  him  at  the  guard 
to-night." 

•*  It  was  there,"  said  Brady,  "  that  I  overheard  the  conver- 
sation between  him  and  a  prisoner  we  have." 

"  How  ?" 

"  I  was  standing  by,"  said  the  Corporal,  "  when  Thorpe 
asked  the  Captain  to  see  his  prisoner.  He  said  he  had  orders 
from  the  General ;  but  I  noticed  that  he  showed  no  written 
order  ;  and  we  all  know  General  Wool  well  enough  to  be  sure 
that  he  would  have  given  such  an  order  in  black  and  white." 

"  But  the  Captain  of  the  Guard  did  not  think  so,"  said 
Clayton. 

"  True,   sir,"   answeted  \)aa  o\.Viax,     But  he  respects  the 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  265 


Colonel  too  highly  to  question  him — more  highly,  I  think,  than 
he  deserves." 

"  Well  V 

"  I  thought,"  continued  Brady,  **  that  something  was  wrong; 
and  if  not,  at  most,  no  harm  could  come  of  my  hearing  their 
conference — being  an  officer  of  the  guard,  you  know,  sir — " 

"  Never  mind  your  apology,  but  go  on  with  you  story,"  said 
Clayton. 

"  Well,"  said  the  Corporal,  in  a  low  voice,  "  I  went  round 
here  to  the  right,  on  the  canal,  and  stood  at  the  window  while 
the  Colonel  held  a  long  conversation  with  a  Mexican  prisoner 
brought  in  to-night  by  the  picket.  He  seems  a  low  fellow,  and 
is  all  burnt  and  singed — " 

"Pass  over  the  description — I  will  see  him  myself,"  said 
Clayton. 

"  Well,"  said  Brady,  again,  "  he  told  Thorpe  a  long  story 
about  his  having  beseiged,  and  finally  blown  up  a  house  con- 
taining several  persons,  and  among  others — " 

"  Vernon  and  Manning,"  said  Clayton. 

•*  Precisely,  sir,"  said  the  Corporal ;  *•  but  I  will  take  you  to 
him,  and  you  can  talk  with  him." 

So  saying  he  crossed  the  rivulet,  and  turned  to  the  right. 

•*  Who  goes  there  ?"  cried  a  sentinel. 

The  Corporal  answered,  and  having  given  the  countersign  he 
led  Clayton  across  a  little  court  towards  the  room  in  which  the 
prisoner  was  confined.  Here  he  was  hailed  by  another  sentinel, 
whom  he  passed  in  the  same  manner,  and  pushing  open  the 
door,  he  and  Clayton  stood  in  the  presence  of  the  Mexican. 

"  Come,  hombre,''  said  the  Corporal,  shaking  the  prisoner 
roughly,  *'  get  up*    Here  Is  an  QfRper  who  wishes  to  spea\L  \.o 


266  TALBOT  AND  VEBMON. 

you.''     He  lit  a  candle  as  he  Bpoke,  and  set  it  down  near  the 
**  hambret*  so  as  to  exhibit  his  begrimed  and  repulsive  features. 

"  I  want  to  talk  with  you,"  Clayton  began,  **  about  the  suc- 
cess of  your  expedition  into  the  mountains." 

The  fellow  started,  but  recovered  his  composure  in  a  moment 

<*  What  expedition,  sefior  V  he  asked. 

'*  You  understand  me  well  enough,"  said  Clayton,  impatient- 
ly. "  I  do  not  come  to  you  for  the  purpose  of  entrapping  you, 
but  (mly  to  reward  you  for  any  little  information  you  can  give 
me.  You  see,"  he  proceeded  confidentially,  while  the  Mex- 
ican's small  black  eye  searched  his  face — "  you  see.  Colonel 
Thorpe  and  I  are  playing  a  little  game,  in  which  each  is  anx- 
ious to  be  victor.  Not  that  either  of  us  cares,  particularly, 
about  the  life  or  death  of  the  men  you  have  been  pursuing ; 
but  each  of  us  wishes  to  succeed.  We  have  a  little  wager  de- 
pending upon  it,  too ;  and  he  says  he  has  won  it.  It  may  be 
80  ;  but  I  do  not  believe  it.  He  refers  me  to  you,  and  I  want 
to  know  before  I  pay  the  money." 

"  Colonel  Thorpe's  accoimt  is  the  true  one,"  said  the  Mex- 
ican, coldly.  **  I  can  say  no  more  to  you  than  I  have  said  to 
him." 

"  Well,"  said  Clayton,  "  are  they  really  dead  ?" 

"  They  are  dead,"  said  he,  doggedly. 

**  But  in  that  case,  amigo  vmo^'  said  the  Lieutenant,  smiling, 
<'  I  have  lost  \  and  I  can  make  it  really  worth  while  to  you  to 
give  a  different  account." 

"  I  can  give  no  account  but  the  true  one,"  said  the  Mexican, 
firmly. 

**Oi  cou^rse  ?iot,"  said  Clinton  ;  "  but,  on  refiection,  now,  do 
YQM  UQt  thipk  yo)i  Viaye  beeii  TavsX'8^!LRtL^    \yi  \>sa.  ^<jar  losing 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  267 


your  reward  from  Thorpe — I  will  not  say  a  word  to  him  about 
it  till  you  have  got  it  and  gone  ;  but  I  can  give  you  more  than 
five  hundred  dollars — my  bet  is  a  large  one." 

**I  cannot  help  it/'  said  the  other,  after  a  moment's  reflec- 
tion ;  "  what  I  have  told  is  the  truth." 

"  And  you  really  blew  them  all  up  ?"  said  Clayton. 

''  Si  senor,^*  he  replied,  and  betook  himself  to  the  floor. 

**  We  must  try  some  other  way,"  said  the  Lieutenant,  in 
Snglish.  "  Can  you  get  a  rope  and  a  trusty  man  in  here,  Cort 
poral  ?" 

*'  In  Ave  minutes,  sir,"  replied  the  latter,  and  passed  out,  leav- 
ing Clayton  alone  with  the  assassin.  The  latter  sat  upon  the 
floor  under  the  little  window  mentioned  before,  and  the  former 
paced  for  a  few  moments  up  and  down  the  little  room.  A 
noise  without  attracted  his  attention,  and  he  stepped  to  the 
door  to  look  out.  At  the  same  moment  a  "  hist!"  was  cautious^ 
]y  whispered  at  the  window,  and  the  Mexican  stealthily  rose  to 
his  feet.  A  face  was  thrust  into  the  opening  which  he  knew 
at  once. 

"  Have  you  told  him  anything?"  asked  the  whisper. 

•*  No,  seilor,"  replied  the  other,  in  the  same  tone — "  nothing." 

"  What  is  that  ?"  exclaimed  Clayton,  turning  suddenly  round, 
attracted  by  the  voices. 

^'Traitor!"  hissed  the  voice  outside ;  and  the  Mexican  sprang 
back  and  fell  to  the  floor,  transfixed  by  a  long  lance.  Claytcm 
lifted  him  from  the  ground  and  drew  the  steel  from  his  breast, 
but  before  he  could  do  so  the  Mexican  was  dead  I 

**  Run,  Brady !"  he  exclaimed  to  the  Corporal  who  now  en- 
tered, "  and  arrest  any  one  you  catch  in  the  rear  of  the  house. 


268  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 

Come  here,"  he  added  to  the  soldier  who  entered  with  Brady ; 
"  help  me  to  lift  this  mau  upon  the  bench/' 

Brady  comprehended  in  a  moment ;  but  he  was  compelled  to 
make  a  considerable  circuit  to  reach  the  rear  of  the  rancho; 
and  before  he  could  do  so  the  murderer  had  escaped.  Not  a 
human  being  was  to  be  seen — not  even  a  footstep  was  to  be 
heard.  He  inquired  of  the  nearest  sentinel,  but  he  had  seen  uo 
one,  except  the  corporal  himself.  He  returned,  without  making 
any  discovery,  to  the  room  where  Clayton  and  the  soldier  were 
with  the  corpse. 

The  murderer's  hand  had  been  true  to  his  purpose :  the 
Mexican  was  dead ;  and  already  the  blood  from  the  wide 
wound  was  beginning  to  run  more  sluggishly.  The  assassin 
had  gone  lo  his  final  account,  with  his  sins  fresh  upon  his  hand 
—even  with  the  signs  upon  his  face.  The  hand  of  justice  bad 
stricken  him  in  the  moment  of  his  treachery,  and  one  crime 
was  made  the  retribution  for  another. 

"  The  murderer  has  become  the  victim,"  said  Clayton,  sur- 
veying the  rapidly-stiflfening  corpse.  "  If  we  were  better 
Christians  we  would  regret  it  more.  We  can  do  no  more  than 
lay  the  clay  in  the  ground  ;-rGod  must  judge  him  and  us  I 
There  are  many,  per]iaps,  whom  he  will  precede  but  a  few 
hours." 

"  Will  you  explain  the  matter  to  the  captain  of  the  guard  ?" 
asked  the  corporal. 

"I  will  explain  it  to  the  General,"  answered  the  lieutenant; 

and   turning   mournfully  from   the   corpse,  he  walked  away. 

There  is  something  in  the  contemplation  of  sudden  death  which 

will  make  any  man  pause  to  think ;  how  much  more  thought- 

ful  are  we  made  by  the  8\^\\\.  o^  ?k.  ^^^vV,  -wVvose  suddenness  we 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  269 


think  only  an  element  of  just  retribution  !  And  yet,  we  think 
again ;  we  feel  that,  if  a  part  of  the  criminality  of  murder  con- 
sists in  sending  a  sinful  mortal  to  the  Bar  of  Heaven  un- 
prepared, hurrying  another  sinner  into  the  world  of  spirits 
cannot  wipe  out  the  blood.  "  Thou  shalt  do  no  murder !' 
God  has  so  commanded.  Thou  shalt  not  cut  short  the  term 
-which  I  have  allotted  as  the  probation  of  every  man  I  Thou 
art  not  of  my  council,  and  thou  canst  not  tell  when  that  term 
must  end.  Thou  shalt  not  cut  short  the  term  of  any  man's 
probation !    If  you  let  him  live  now,  he  may  live  forever  ! 


CHAPTER    IV. 

«  The  ihont 
Of  battle  DOW  be|n>°)  *o^  rushing  aoond 
Of  oxuet  ended  loon  each  milder  thought"— Paraoik  Lost. 

*'  It  iit  methinki,a  morning  full  of  fate."— Joiifoiv. 

"The  eager  armiei  meet  to  try  their  cauBe.''- Mat. 

The  morning  of  the  twenty-third  dawned  bright  and  clear; 
and  the  first  rays  of  the  morning  sun,  as  he  rose  in  glory  over 
the  hills,  played  upon  fluttering  pennons  and  glittering  bayonets. 
The  American  columns,  who  had  bivouacked  in  th^  rear,  came 
slowly  winding  over  the  hills  to  occupy  the  line  of  battle- 
then  calmly  to  await  the  onset.  In  the  intervals  of  the  broken 
ground,  horsemen,  gaily  dressed  in  lace  and  'broidered  colors, 
were  galloping  from  flank  to  flank  of  the  Mexican  array. 
Heavy  columns  of  lancers,  with  the  heads  of  their  pennoned 
lances  lifted  to  the  sky,  moved  slowly  from  point  to  point,  and 
halted  for  the  signal  of  attack.  Large  masses  of  infantry, 
moving  with  the  precision  of  a  field  day,  and  gleaming  like  a 
forest  of  steel  in  the  simlight,  wound  slowly  from  their  bivouacs 
towards  the  right  and  fronl.  Here,  sheltered  from  the  fire,  they 
lay  like  clouds  along  the  mountain,  ready  to  discharge  their 
force  upon  the  American  left.  The  cannon  frowned  ominously 
from  every  rising  gtowuA,  ^i^^  \^v^  ^wuers  stood  with  matches 
Jit,  beside  the  deadly  engm^a.    TYi^  ^\^^'5i.\'?>^:\wi^'a&  ^^^ss?^^^- 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  271 


• 


naught  was  wanting  but  the  signal  for  launching  forth  the 
deadly  charge. 

Our  friends  upon  the  mountain  were  roused  before  the  dawn 
by  "  the  note  of  preparation"  below  them ;  and  as  the  first  light 
broke  over  the  sierra^  the  firing  again  commenced  between  the 
skirmishers,  where  the  darkness  had  suspended  it.  As  they 
climbed  out  of  the  sheltered  nook  in  which  they  had  reposed,  the 
two  parallel  ridges  occupied  by  the  opposing  forces  were  two 
unbroken  lines  of  fire;  and  a  cloud  of  white  smoke  already 
hung  upon  the  morning  air,  concealing  every  combatant.  Over 
this  cloud  they  gazed  upon  the  fields  below,  and  saw  the  move- 
ments of  each  party — the  one  preparing  to  overwhelm  and  the 
other  to  resist.  As  Vernon  gazed  upon  the  dense  masses  of 
Mexicans,  piled  along  the  ridges  and  concealed-  within  the 
ravines,  his  heart  trembled  for  the  little  band  which  lay,  di- 
minutive and  scattered,  along  the  unfortified  line  of  defence, 
and,  although  feeble  from  long  illness,  and  sore  from  fatigue  and 
want  of  rest,  he  determined  at  once  to  join  his  friends. 

**  I  am  sorry  to  leave  you  in  this  situation,''  said  he  ;  "  but 
my  friends  will  need  all  the  help  they  can  receive.  I  must  join 
them  at  once." 

The  old  man  would  have  remonstrated,  but  Catharina  inter- 
posed. 

"  It  is  right, "father,"  said  she.  "His  friends  are  few  and  his 
enemies  are  many.  We  can  remain  here  in  safety  till  the  fight 
is  over ;  and  if  we  cannot  he  could  not  protect  us  if  he  re- 
mained." 

Her  father  threw  his  arms  around  her  and  made  no  reply. 

"  You  need  not  fear  for  me,  father,"  she  continued.  "  At 
the  worst  we  can  go  back  over  the  mountain  the  way  we  cMXkfe.** 


272  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 

"  Yon  need  not  even  do  that/'  said  Vernon,  who  had  been 
examining  the  field.  **  You  can  keep  along  the  mountain  here  to 
the  right,  until  you  clear  the  flank  of  the  army,  and  then  go 
into  Saltillo.  Major  Warren  is  in  command  there,  I  think; 
and  if  I  had  paper  I  would  give  you  a  note  to  him.  You  will 
be  safe  at  all  events,  there." 

"  I  have  friends  there — many  of  them,"  said  Bonaro,  "  who 
would  give  us  shelter  if  we  could  but  reach  them." 

"  Here  is  a  piece  of  paper,"  said  Catharina,  drawing  a  care- 
fully-folded letter  from  her  bosom,  the  writing  upon  which  as 
she  opened  it  and  tore  off  the  margin,  Vernon  recognized  as 
Hugh's.  Their  eyes  met  and  she  blushed  deeply ;  but  Allen 
hastily  took  the  scrap  to  relieve  her  embarrassment,  and  she 
quickly  concealed  the  remainder.  He  then  traced  a  few  words 
with  a  pencil  and  handed  the  note  to  Bonaro. 

*'  Where  will  we  find  you  after  these  troubles  are  settled  ?** 
he  asked,  as  he  bade  them  farewell. 

"  It  is  my  intention,"  said  Bonaro,  "  to  return  as  soon  as  pos- 
sible to  Rinconada,  four  leagues  from  Monterey  on  the  San 
Juan." 

About  to  turn  away,  he  caught  Catharina's  eyes  fixed  upon 
him  with  an  expression  which  he  could  not  mistake.  He  took 
her  hand  again,  and  pressing  it  warmly,  replied  to  the  look : — 

"  I  will  fee  that  he  is  exchanged  as  soon  as  possible,"  he 
said  ;  and  in  two  months  you  may  look  for  us  at  Rinconada." 

"  God  bless  you  !"  said  the  old  man,  solemnly ;  and  Catharina 
sank  upon  a  stone  and  covered  her  face  with  her  hands. 

He  hurried  with  all  speed  down  the  ridge  upon  which  his 

friends  were  still  fighting ;  and  the  old  man  and  his  daughter 

turned  away  to  the  tight.     CaxYiaiSxvBt  ^«X!i5.^^  ^t^svN^Vj  hx  the 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  273 


side  of  her  father,  or  kindly  assisted  him  to  cross  the  ravines 
which  occasionally  obstructed  their  way.  She  was  thinking 
of  Hugh.  Little  more  than  one  month  had  elapsed  since  they 
first  met ;  yet  that  brief  time  had  been  sufficient  for  the  growth 
to  maturity  of  an  affection  strong  and  deep^an  affection  frank, 
w^arm  and  pure,  though  not  perhaps  so  impulsive  as  it  might 
have  been  a  few  years  before.  The  few  glimpses  the  necessi- 
ties of  our  story  have  permitted  us  to  give  of  them  were  not 
all  nor  even  a  large  part  of  their  intercourse.  If  they  were  so, 
she  might  be  liable  to  the  censure  of  being  too  frank,  as  per- 
haps she  may  be  accused.  But  she  was  a  true  daughter  of  her 
race — with  just  enough  of  the  blood  of  the  colder  North  to  tem- 
per and  subdue  without  destroying  tbe  impulsiveness  of  her 
nature.  Hugh's  bold,  free  and  open  spirit  had  impressed  her 
deeply — too  deeply  for  her  present  peace.  For,  though  Ver- 
non's pledge  to  rescue  his  friend  as  soon  as  possible  had  some- 
what calmed  her  fears,  she  still  felt  forebodings  which  made 
her  heart  far  from  quiet.  Had  Hugh  been  in  the  ranks  below 
her,  nothing  short  of  violence  could  have  induced  her  to  turn 
away.  But  he  was  not  there ;  and  she  walked  by  her  father's 
side  in  silence,  never  turning  her  face  to  the  conflict,  and  occu- 
pied by  far  different  thoughts.  The  old  man  was  anxious  to 
reach  the  city  on  her  account ;  had  he  been  alone  perhaps  he 
would  not  have  left  the  mountain.  To  place  her  in  safety  be- 
fore the  license  consequent  upon  victory  and  defeat  alike,  was 
his  first  object.  He  sometimes  turned  his  head  to  gaze  for  a 
moment  upon  the  contending  hosts  below  ;  but  after  an  hour's 
walk  a  ridge  shut  the  field  from  view  and  they  hurried  on  in 
silence. 

Vernon  threw  himself  at  once  among  the  scanty  band  ^Yxo 


y 


^74  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


were  endeavoring  to  resist  the  encroachments  of  ten  times  their 
number.  He  was  unarmed,  but  seizing  the  rifle  of  one  of  the 
wounded,  and  taking  the  cartridge-box  offered  by  the  dying 
man,  he  at  once  joined  the  now  retiring  line.  Ampudia's  light 
brigade  was  pressing  on  them  in  force — they  were  but  a  hand- 
ful of  weary  men ;  but  gallantly  fighting  for  every  inch  of 
ground,  they  strewed  the  opposite  slope  with  the  fallen.  Dearly 
did  the  enemy  purchase  every  advantage ;  for  not  a  Mexican 
could  show  himself  above  the  plantain,  but  some  American 
sharp-shooter  levelled  him  with  the  dust  Each  had  been 
climbing  the  mountain  ;  and  as  they  rose  near  the  summit,  the 
ravine  which  divided  them,  rapidly  grew  narrower,  so  that, 
when  the  sun  rose,  not  one  hundred  yards  separated  the  com- 
batants. A  perfect  tempest  of  bullets  rattled  among  the  rocks 
and  plantain,  and  riddled  the  leaves  and  trunks  of  the  stunted 
palms.  The  Americans  fought  under  cover — they  were  so  few 
that  the  ground  afforded  them  shelter — but  the  dense  masses  of 
Mexicans  presented  a  mark  not  to  be  missed ;  and  yelling  with 
agony,  or  shouting  with  excitement,  the  hapless  in&mtry  went 
down  by  scores.  The  iron  hail  that  stormed  uround  them  was 
to  the  American  riflemen  comparatively  harmless — ^the  casual- 
ties among  them  bore  no  ratio  to  the  slaughter  in  the  ranks  of 
their  enemies. 

But  this  could  not  last.  The  maddening  peril  of  their  situ- 
ation and  the  shelterless  ground  they  occupied,  while  they  thin« 
ned  their  numbers  goaded  the  rest  to  desperation.  To  stand 
before  the  storm  was  impossible — to  retreat  or  to  advance  boldly 
upon  the  little  band  of  rifles,  was  the  only  alternative..  To  fall 
back  was  disgrace  to  their  leader — already  arraigned  and  pun- 
ished  for  ins  conduct  at  Montexe^*— ^xid  tL<^  chose  to  make  one 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  275 


desperate  effort  to  dislodge  the  Americans  and  turn  the  flank  of 
the  army.  With  one  wild  shout  they  rushed  into  the  ravine ; 
many  fell,  pierced  through  and  through,  mingling  their  yells 
with  the  din  of  battle  ;  the  line  became  disordered ;  the  Ame- 
ricans rushed  to  the  brink  of  the  ridge  and  poured  volley  after 
volley  into  the  dense  and  confused  mass ;  shouts  of  derision  and 
defiance  mingled  with  the  roar  of  musketry ;  the  Mexicans  be^ 
gan  to  waver,  ten  to  one  as  they  were,  and  a  few  threw  away 
their  arms  and  fled  for  life  down  the  mountain  ;  to  increase  the 
confusion,  a  shell  from  O'Brien's  battery  fell  directly  among  the 
crowd,  and  bursting  in  their  midst  sent  many  a  brave  man  to 
his  final  account ! 

The  fight  seemed  now  lost,  and  the  Americans  crowded  to 
the  bank  and  redoubled  their  deadly  fire  within  fifty  yards,  tell- 
ing upon  the  boiling  mass  dreadfully.  But  it  was  not  to  be 
given  up  so.  Ampudia,  and  two  or  three  of  his  officers,  rushed 
to  the  front.  A  man  seized  the  colors  from  the  ground,  and 
rushed  up  the  steep.  He  fell,  pierced  by  twenty  bullets ;  but 
another,  and  another  snatched  them  from  the  ground,  as  each 
in  his  turn  fell  before  the  storm.  Goaded  to  madness,  like  a 
herd  of  wild  bufiialoes,  the  mass  swayed  to  and  fro.  At  last 
they  turned  upon  their  enemies,  and  with  one  wild  shout,  rush- 
ed up  the  broken  ridge.  At  the  point  of  the  bayonet,  hand  to 
band,  and  foot  to  foot,  the  fight  wavers  upon  the  brink  ;  hun- 
dreds roll  over  the  rocks  dead,  wounded,  and  bruised.  But 
numbers  and  fury  at  last  prevail.  The  level  ground  is  at  last 
gained — the  riflemen  slowly  retire  down  the  steep,  turning  at 
every  step  to  avenge  their  defeat — the  infantry  form  upon  the 
ground  they  have  left — they  slowly  advance,  and  the  fiank  is 
turned ! 


276  TALBOT  AND  VERNOK. 


In  the  meantime,  the  fight  opened  aldng  the  whole  line  ;  and 
shells  and  round  shot  were  thrown  into  the  American  camp,  or 
ploughed  up  the  ground  over  all  the  field.  Copper  balls,  weigh- 
ing eighteen  and  twenty«four  pounds,  came  bounding  in  enor- 
mous leaps  from  ridge  to  ridge,  or  howled  through  the  air  far 
over  our  heads.  The  ground  was  covered  with  large,  black 
balderSf  hard  as  flint ;  and  when  one  of  these  deadly  missiles 
struck  the  earth,  it  scattered  these  in  every  direction,  like  the 
fragments  of  a  bursting  shell,  killing  and  maiming  all  who 
were  near.  As  the  two  armies  neared  each  other — ^like  two 
dark  clouds  full  charged  with  lightning — grape  was  used ;  and 
first  dropping  along  the  line  like  the  large  drops  of  rain  before 
a  summer  shower,  and  then  pouring  in  like  the  storm  itself, 
the  messengers  of  death  hailed  thick  and  fast.  One  unbroken 
roar  of  artillery— one  sheet  of  flame-— one  dense  cloud  of  smoke, 
marked  the  positions  of  the  gradually-closing  armies. 

The  small  American  force  stood  firm — nay,  revelled  in  the 
danger,  and  cheered  long  and  loudly,  casting  their  caps  into  the 
air,  as  if  upon  some  peaceful  holiday  rejoicing.  Not  a  moment 
were  their  voices  silent ;  and  one  continued  shout  ran  like  a 
contagion  from  flank  to  flank,  or  was  taken  up  by  the  whole 
line  in  one  loud,  simultaneous  cheer.  No  soldiers  were  ever  in 
better  spirits— ^none  ever  had  the  prospect  of  a  harder  fight. 

Large  masses  of  infantry  and  cavalry  were  now  seen  moving 
up  from  Santa  Anna's  third  line,  and  severally  taking  their 
positions.  A  heavy  body  of  two  thousand  horse,  sustained  by 
ah  equal  number  of  infantry,  formed  into  close  column  of  at- 
tack upon  the  San  Luis  road.  Orderly  oflicers  galloped  from 
front  to  rear,  assigning  each  corps  to  its  position — the  head  of 
the  column  moved  up  a  \\lt\e  to% — \Vifc  \ow^,  dense  line  halted, 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  277 


and  awaited  the  signal  of  attack.  Tiiey  were  destined  to  assail 
the  Pass  of  Angastnra,  held  by  Captain  Washington's  light  bat- 
tery of  six  pieces,  and  the  first  Illinois  foot — both  under  the 
command  of  Colonel  Hardin. 

Another  column,  double  the  number  of  the  first,  was  slowly 
concentrated  on  the  Mexican  right,  covered  by  a  battery  of 
eighteen  pounders  at  the  foot  of  the  mountain,  and  destined  to 
follow  up  the  movement  of  Ampudia  on  the  American  left. 
Both  these  columns  were  formed  while  the  fight  was  going  on 
upon  the  mountain  ;  and  each  now  awaited  the  result  of  that 
movement.  At  last  the  riflemen  gave  way ;  overpowered  by 
numbers,  and  literally  borne  down  the  slope,  they  hastened  to- 
wards the  plain.  The  signal  was  given  as  this  was  perceived, 
and  then  came  the  second  great  effort  of  the  day  I 


CHAPTER    V. 


The  battle  twerred 


With  MMnj  an  inroad  gored  ;  defionaed  loat 
Entered,  and  £oal  disorder."— Parxdmk  Lost 

'*  It  was  a  good]  J  sight. 
To  aee  the  embattled  pomp,  as  witii  the  step 
Of  stateliness  the  barbed  steeds  came  on." — Soctbkt. 

The  ground  in  front  of  the  Pass  of  Angastnra,  over  which 
the  San  Luis  road  passes,  is  perfectly  level  for  the  space  of  six 
or  seven  hundred  yards.  It  then  gradually  rises  until  it  reaches 
the  summit  of  a  gentle  eminence,  over  which  the  road  passes, 
and  slopes  away  towards  JLa  Encantada,  or  the  "  Haunted'* 
liancho.  Washington's  guns  thus  commanded  the  road  for 
nearly  a  mile  ;  and  a  force  advancing  upon  the  pass  w^ould  be 
subjected  to  a  murderous  fire,  in  traversing  the  whole  of  that 
space,  before  they  could  come  to  close  quarters.  Jutting  out 
from  the  plateau,  and  terminating  suddenly  at  the  road,  came 
tongues  of  broken  ground,  like  the  fingers  of  a  man's  hand ; 
and  between  these  were  deep  rocky  barancas,  washed  sheer 
down  to  the  level  below,  and  extending,  many  of  them,  to  the 
precipitous  hills.  A  narrow  space  of  level  land  separated  them 
from  the  deep  arroj/os,  or  ravines  and  chasms  washed  in  the 
ground ;  and  these  were  impassible  even  to  the  infantry.  At 
the  pass,  a  ridge  runs  out  farther  than  the  rest,  w^hile  the 
arrayo  closes  in — ^forming  ^  \^sss6,^^  xio\.  trsxi^  \Jiiasv  v^^lve  feet 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  279 


wide.  Here  was  posted  the  battery,  supported  by  eight  com- 
panies of  infantry ;  and  this  was  the  position  to  be  forced. 

The  column  was  at  last  formed  ;  and  amidst  deafening  cheers 
from  Hardin's  men,  its  head  slowly  appeared  above  the  little 
eminence  spoken  of  above.  First  came  a  dense  body  of  lancers, 
moving  forty  abreast,  in  close  array,  with  pennants  fluttering  in 
the  wind,  and  sabres  gleaming  in  the  sunlight.  Winding  over 
the  eminence,  and  slowly  descending  to  the  plain,  their  formi- 
dable numbers  were  visible  to  their  breathless  enemies;  the 
tramp  of  eager  steeds,  the  mellow  music  of  their  bugles,  and 
the  waving  of  numberless  banners,  announced  the  pride  and 
confidence  of  discipline.  As  the  long  column  of  horsemen 
cleared  the  hill,  the  flags  of  the  infantry  were  visible,  floating, 
rich  in  gold  and  silk  embroidery,  above  the  forest  of  gleaming 
bayonets.  Then  came  the  tall  hats  and  many-colored  cockades 
of  the  different  corps,  and  firmly  breasting  the  hill,  in  admirable 
order,  the  heavy  infantry  of  the  column  marched  close  upon 
the  heels  of  the  horsemen.  Before  the  infantry  had  cleared 
the  hill,  the  cavalry  were  within  point  blank  range  of  Wash- 
ington's guns ;  but  that  ofiicer  was  unwilling  to  open  upon 
them,  until  they  were  fairly  within  the  jaws  of  death. 

Not  a  word  was  spoken  among  the  little  band  who  held  the 
pass ;  the  silence  was  so  profound  that  the  neighing  of  the 
horses  and  the  jingling  of  the  sabres  could  be  distinctly  heard. 
Even  the  voices  of  their  ofiicers,  preserving  unbroken  order, 
came,  mingling  with  the  stillness,  to  the  pass;  and  the  measured 
trampling  of  the  horses  as  their  prancing  ceased,  became  dis- 
tinctly audible.  The  impatience  for  the  onset,  manifested  by 
loud  cheers,  had  given  place  to  a  stern,  ominous  silence  \  ^xA 


280  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


every  lausketeer    graaped  his  weapou  more  firmly  for   the 
struggle. 

The  head  of  the  column  had  now  advanced  within  five 
hundred  yards  of  the  redoubt,  and  still  not  a  gun  had  been  fired. 
Lieutenant-Colonel  Weatherford  stepped  out  from  behind  the 
parapet,  and  raised  his  hand;  and  simultaneously  six  pieces, 
trained  upon  the  head  of  the  column,  opened  their  deadly  fire. 
Shells  and  round  shot  sped  together  howling  through  the  air; 
striking  the  head  of  the  dense  mass,  they  tore  through  the  pass, 
or  bursted  in  the  crowd,  ripping  up  the  formations  and  opening 
long  lanes  from  front  to  rear.  Sabres  and  lances,  and  shakos 
and  banners  mingled  in  frightful  confusion ;  horses  plunged  and 
neighed  and  rolled  upon  the  crowd,  crushing  and  wounding 
their  riders  and  obstructing  the  passage  of  the  rest.  A  yell  of 
agony  from  men  and  horses,  was  answered  by  a  shout  of 
triumph  and  derision  from  the  cannoniers  and  infantry.  The 
fire  was  redoubled;  the  confused  mass  was  more  confused; 
loud  commands  and  louder  curses  were  of  no  avail ;  a  storm  of 
grape  succeeded  to  the  shells  and  reaped  them  down  like  ripened 
grain ;  they  made  an  effort  to  move  forward,  only  to  meet  death 
the  sooner  and  in  greater  numbers  ;  the  dead,  the  wounded  and 
the  struggling  cumbered  the  plain  ;  the  infantry  halted  in  help- 
less masses ;  the  column  wavered,  a  few  stragglers  put  spurs  to 
their  horses  and  galloped  to  the  right;  the  example  was  con-/ 
tagious,  and  in  five  minutes  the  whole  mass,  broken,  decimated, 
and  flying,  had  disappeared  among  the  ravines.  Another  long, 
loud  cheer  from  the  American  lines  proclaimed  their  rout. 

But  the  column  on  the  right  was  now  advancing,  too.     As 

the  front  platoons  cleared  the  ravines,  within  whose  cover  they 

had  mustered,  they  were  SMtpiised  to  see  a  little  band  detach 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  281 


itself  from  the  American  line,  and  advance  several  hundred 
yards  along  the  level  plateau — apparently  challenging  the  whole 
Mexican  host  to  fight  them,  twenty  to  one.  This  was  General 
Lane,  with  the  second  Indiana  foot,  and  O'Brien's  light  battery 
of  three  pieces.  Brought  thus  suddenly  into  action,  a  straggling 
fire  opened  on  both  sides — the  Mexicans  pushing  forward,  as 
company  after  company  and  battalion  after  battalion  emerged 
from  the  ravines.  In  five  minutes  the  little  band  found  them- 
selves engaged  with  ten  times  their  number — raked  from  left  to 
right  by  a  heavy  battery  on  their  left,  and  enfiladed  by  another 
on  their  right — supported  feebly  by  O'Brien's  small,  though 
active  guns,  and  torn  to  pieces  by  the  murderous  fire  of  the 
whole  Mexican  force.  To  make  their  situation  worse,  they 
had  been,  by  some  unexplained  mistake,  advanced  entirely  be- 
yond supporting  distance,  and  were  thus  compelled,  singly  and 
alone,  to  combat  the  grand  charge  of  the  day-  Like  four-fifths 
of  the  force,  they  were  volunteers  but  lately  raised,  and  had 
never  before  been  under  fire. 

But  with  the  steadiness  of  veteran  troops,  they  prepared  to 
make  the  most  of  their  desperate  position.  Loading  and  firing 
as  rapidly  as  possible,  they  poured  a  deadiy  fire  into  the  close 
ranks  of  their  enemies.  The  batteries  played  upon  them  con- 
tinually, enveloping  them  in  clouds  of  dust,  and  often  striking 
down  the  fated  files.  O'Brien's  men  worked  with  the  fury  of 
desperation  ;  and  many  and  many  a  shriek  went  up  to  heaven, 
from  those  his  coolly-directed  shot  struck  down.  His  gunners 
fell,  one  after  another,  and  the  ofiicers  supplied  their  places ;  his 
horses  were  killed  and  their  harness  cut  away,  but  still  the  de- 
voted guns  were  plied  with  desperate  fury.  All  the  horses  and 
all  but  two  of  the  men  belonging  to  one  gun  were  kiUed  \  \l  \i^- 


282  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 

came  evident  that  the  gun  must  be  abandoned.  But,  charging 
her  once  more,  the  officer  pointed  her  with  his  own  hand ;  the 
long  lane  opened  in  the  cloud  of  infantry  before  him,  told  how 
certain  was  the  aim ! 

The  fight  had  now  lasted  nearly  half  an  hour — an  age,  al- 
most, in  such  a  place — and  the  battle  was  fast  approaching  a 
deadly  grapple  hand  to  hand.  The  mere  weight  of  nimibers 
must  have  overpowered  the  Uttle  band,  and  the  guns  must 
have  been  lost.  An  aid-de-camp  galloped  up  and  ordered 
them  to  fall  back.  It  was  too  late !  The  enemy  was  upon 
them,  and  their  backs  once  turned,  there  was  no  choice  but 
flight.  They  had  been  in  a  false  position  too  long,  safely  to  re- 
treat from  it.  O'Brien  charged  his  guns  once  more,  and  once 
more  he  threw  a  shower  of  grape  among  the  rapidly  advancing 
battalions.  The  fatal  word  was  given— the  firing  ceased,  a 
retrogade  movement  was  attempted  in  slow  time  ;  but  the  fire 
was  too  hot.  The  slow  time  became  quick  time,  and  the  quick 
time  degenerated  into  a  run.  The  regiment  fled  precipitately 
from  the  field  I  A  panic  may  seize  the  bravest  men — and 
when  it  does,  the  mischief  is  the  greater  in  proportion  to  the 
rareness  of  the  occurrence. 

O'Brien  left  one  of  his  pieces  on  the  field — all  the  men  and 
horses  belonging  to  it  were  killed.  It  was  one  of  the  pieces 
taken  from  General  Santa  Anna  by  Sam  Houston  at  the  battle 
of  San  Jacinto.  Thus  recovered  by  that  general  in  the  coun- 
try from  which  he  carried  it,  more  than  ten  years  before,  had 
he  been  victorious  in  the  fight,  it  might  have  formed  the  text 
of  a  vainglorious  homily.  But  the  recollections  connected  with 
it,  were  not  the  most  pleasant — in  his  official  despatch  to  his 
Government  he  did  not  metiXXow  \\.  *,  ^w^  ^l\Kt  >Jftfe\saxx\ft^  it  was 


\ 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  283 


found  by  the  Americans,  dismounted,  spiked  and  thrown  into  a 
ditch  at  the  foot  of  the  mountain  of  Agua  Nueva.  A  cannon 
may  have  strange  adventures — perhaps  the  strangest ! 

The  attacking  column,  elated  with  success,  and  sure  of  vic- 
tory, pressed  firmly  and  rapidly  onward.  Reinforced  by  num- 
bers from  the  repulsed  column  on  the  left,  it  now  amounted  to 
more  than  ten  thousand  men.  The  second  Kentucky  foot, 
which,  with  two  pieces,  had  been  all  the  morning  posted  in  the 
valley  to  the  right  of  the  arroyos^  was  now  ordered  to  support 
the  second  Illinois  in  its  conflict  with  the  body  which  just 
routed  the  second  Indiana.  Colonel  Hardin  was  ordered  up 
with  four  K3ompanies  of  his  regiment,  to  take  the  Mexicans  in 
flank  ;  while  all  the  artillery  available  was  concentrated  on  the 
heavy  mass. 

It  was  a  critical  moment. 

The  flight  of  the  Indianians  had  left  the  second  Illinoians  en- 
tirety unsupported ;  and  the  broken  line  could  be  filled  up  only 
by  bringing  troops  from  a  point  nearly  a  mile  away.     If  this 
regiment  followed  the  example  of  the  other,  the  fight  was  lost 
beyond  all  redemption.     One  waver,  or  false  movement — one 
blast  of  faint-he^rtedness,  would  ruin  the  fortunes  of  the  day, 
and  give  over  the  whole  American  army  to  murder  and  out- 
rage.    It  was  a  fearful  responsibility ;  but  it  was  nobly  sus- 
tained !     Without  wavering  or  swerving  from  its  course,  the 
Mexican  column  came  steadily  on.     As  they  approached  mus- 
ket range,  a  dropping  Are  opened  from  the  flanks ;  anon  the 
platoons  deployed  into  companies,  and  the  companies  into  bat- 
talions ;  but  without  slacking  their  speed.     And  now  the  guns 
of  Bissell's  men  were  heard.     A  rolling  fire  ran  from  ligja.!  to 
left — and  then  every  man  loaded,  aimed,  and  fired  as  ias\.  a% 


284  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


I 


possible.  Not  a  man  moved  from  his  ranks,  except  to  lie  down 
and  die — not  a  movement  of  hesitation  or  doubt  was  seen  along 
the  line.  The  firing  in  other  parts  of  the  field  had  almost 
ceased,  and  both  armies  seemed  tacitly  to  wait  the  issue  of  this 
charge.  One  by  one,  file  by  file,  the  Americans  'went  down ;  but 
cool  command,  to  **  close  to  the  right,' '  was  as  coolly  obeyed. 
Ofiicer  after  officer  was  dispatched  to  hasten  the  advance  of  re- 
inforcements ;  and  far  down  the  slope  could  be  seen  Hardin's 
and  McKee's  men  running  at  full  speed  to  join  the  fight. 
Hurry  !  hurry  I  for  it  is  time,  indeed !  Quick,  double-quick 
time ;  and  still  they  cannot  be  in  time  !  The  fijre  is  becoming 
too  dense  and  murderous  ;  but  still  no  sign  of  w^avering  along 
the  line.  An  officer  rides  forward,  and  speaks  to  Colonel  Bis- 
sell. 

"  Can  you  take  ground  to  the  rear.  Colonel,  without  another 
panic  ?*' 

"  As  certainly  as  upon  regimental  drill,  sir,"  proudly  answer- 
ed the  Colonel. 

«*  Then,  do  so." 

The  word  to  «*  cease  firing"  was  passed  along  the  line,  and 
the  roar  was  suddenly  silenced.  *«  About,  face  !"  Calmly  and 
steadily  the  facing  was  done.  "  Forward !  Quick  time  !  Steady, 
men — steady  !  March .'"  Coolly  "  as  upon  drill"  the  regiment 
marched  off"  to  the  right  and  rear,  with  a  galling  fire  upon 
their  backs.  "  Halt  I"  Every  man  halted  and  dressed  the  line. 
"About  face  I"  Again  their  faces  were  towards  the  enemy. 
"  Commence  firing  !"  Once  more  the  rolling  fire  ran  from  right 
to  left,  and  the  cheer  of  the  enemy  was  checked  in  its  utter- 
ance. 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  285 

• 

*•  The  battle  is  won,  by  G — d  I"  exclaimed  the  excited  Aid — 
a  large  man,  with  a  very  red  face. 

And  now  came  Hardin  and  McKee.  Forming  on  BisseH's 
right,  they  opened  a  deadly  fire  upon  the  flank  of  the  laboring 
column  ;  amidst  deafening  cheers,  broken  only  by  the  roar  of 
cannon  and  the  rattle  of  the  musketry,  they  swept  them  down. 
At  the  same  time  the  skirmishers  from  the  mountain,  who  had 
slowly  retreated  to  the  plain,  charged  through  the  Mexican 
force,  cutting  the  long  column  in  two.  The  infantry  advanced 
to  meet  them — half  the^  Mexicans,  including  all  the  cavalry  of 
the  column,  are  cut  off  and  gallop  away  to  the  American  rear  ; 
the  rest  recoil  and  waver.  One  vigorous  charge,  sustained  by 
artillery  and  cavalry,  breaks  the  formations — forces  the  lead- 
ing battalions  back  upon  their  comrades.  One  more  push  with 
the  bayonet  completes  the  confusion — the  broken  mass,  like  the 
waves  of  a  troubled  sea,  roll  away  to  the  rear,  and  their  retreat 
is  accelerated  by  the  artillery,  which  ploughs  through  them  in 
every  direction.  What  had  been  the  head  of  the  column 
floated  away  towards  the  plain,  like  a  fragment  from  a  cloud, 
and  the  hot  and  breathless  combatants  lie  down  to  rest.  It 
was  the  first  crisis  of  the  day,  safely  passed ;  and  every  man 
felt  his  courage  renewed  and  strengthened. 


1 


CHAPTER   VI. 

"  Much  woik  for  tears  in  many  an  Engliih  mother, 
Whose  sons  lie  scattered  on  the  bleeding  ground." — Kino  Johk. 

^  "  M7  lord,  here  are  letters  for  70a."— Henry  IV.,  Part  I. 

"  Here  are  a  few  of  the  unpleasant'st  words 
That  ever  blotted  paper.'- — Merchant  or  Yenioe. 

Among  those  who  broke  through,  and  divided  the  Mexican 
column,  was  Allen  Vernon,  having  taken  part  in  the  fierce 
fight  of  several  hours  on  the  mountain.  During  the  hand-to- 
hand  conflict  that  followed  their  retreat,  he  had  no  time  to  look 
about  him.  But  when  the  broken  and  rifled  mass  had  at  last 
retired  beyond  musket  range,  and  were  left  to  the  tender  mer- 
cies of  the  most  effective  artillery  in  the  world,  he  threw  him- 
self upon  a  stone  to  breathe.  His  name  was  called,  and  his 
hand  was  grasped  by  Lieutenant  Clayton. 

*'  A  warm  welcome  after  your  wanderings,  isn't  it  ?"  said  he, 
smiling. 

"  Warm  enough  in  all  conscience/'  replied  Vernon,  wiping 
the  perspiration  from  his  brow.  "  When  did  you  return  from 
the  States  ?" 

"  Only  a  few  days  ago,"  said  the  Lieutenant ;  *«  and  I  have 
letters  for  you." 

"  Are  my  friends  well  ?     Did  you  see  my  father  ?" 

*'  Yes,  I  saw  him.  a  moment — ^a\\  'w^W.    ^xsxxtfSNN  ^^%wer  nw 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  287 


a  question  or  two  :  where  in  the  world  have  you  been  so  long  ? 
and  how  happens  it  that  you  return  just  in  the  nick  of  time  ?" 

"  I  can*t  tell  you  now — it  would  take  till  night ;  and  we  are 
likely  to  have  plenty  to  do  between  now  and  then.  From 
M^hom  are  the  letters?" 

"  One  is  from  your  father,  and  one  from — can  you  guess?" 

**  I  might  hope,  but  contra  spem — '* 

"  The  other  is  from  Miss  Cara  Talbot — ^I  will  not  keep  you 
in  suspense,"  interrupted  Clayton. 

"  Where  is  it?"  asked  Allen,  eagerly,  rising  to  his  feet. 

A  flush  passed  over  Clayton's  face,  but  faded  out  imme- 
diately. It  was  a  flush  of  jealousy  which  even  the  moslrgene- 
rous  natures  cannot  avoid.  It  was  gone,  however,  and  he 
replied  with  a  laugh — 

**  Nay,  sit  down  ;  you  cannot  get  it  till  night — " 

**  And  then  we  may  both  be  dead,"  interrupted  Vernon. 

"  You  are  right,"  replied  the  oth^r.  "  Wait  here — I  think  I 
can  venture  to  be  absent  a  few  minutes."  He  caught  a  horse, 
of  which  there  were  many  running  loose  over  the  plauteau, 
and  springing  into  the  saddle  galloped  away  to  his  regiment, 
and  thence  to  the  camp.  In  a  very  few  minutes  he  was  again 
beside  Allen,  presenting  him  a  letter.  Like  Vernon,  he  had 
totally  forgotten  the  letter  from  his  father,  and  thought  only  of 
that  from  the  hand  of  her  whom  they  both  loved.  Allen 
snatched  it  eagerly,  and  tore  it  open.  Before  he  commenced 
reading,  however,  he  looked  up,  and  met  Clayton's  eyes  resting 
upon  him  with  an  expression  which  he  did  not  understand. 
But  as  before,  it  vanished,  and  Allen  spoke — 

"  Pardon  my  ungraciousness,"  he  said ;  *'  I  should  have 
thanked  you  before  for  manifesting  so  much  eageTne8&— ^* 


288  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


**  O  read,  read,  by  all  means !"  said  Clayton,  hastily.  «*  You 
may  be  interrupted  at  any  moment,  and  never  read  any  more." 

Thus  urged,  he  opened  the  letter  again,  and  Clayton  turned 
away.  The  fight  was  raging  fiercely  on  the  left  and  in  the  rear, 
and  there  was  a  heavy  cannonading  on  the  right  at  Angastura ; 
but  in  the  centre  where  they  were,  everything  was  quiet.  Had 
all  the  artillery  on  the  field,  however,  been  playing  over  him, 
after  he  commenced  the  letter,  it  would  not  have  roused  him. 
It  ran  as  follows — we  can  read  it  as  he  does  while  Santa  Anna 
is  re-forming  his  broken  battalions ; — 

"  L ,  January  15,  184T. 

Dear  Mr.  Vernon  : 

You  have  now  been  absent  more  than  eight  months,  and  yet 
during  the  whole  of  that  time — an  age  to  me — ^you  have  never 
had  the  grace  to  write  me  a  single  line !  If,  like  the  forlorn 
knight  who  sang — 

*  O  !  fly  to  her  t}ower,  and  tell  her  the  chain 
Of  the  tyrant  it  oyer  me  now,—' 

you  are  immured  *  in  a  dungeon  to  waste  away  youth,*  I  can 
excuse  the  otherwise  inexcusable  neglect.  And,  as  I  am  de^ 
termined  at  all  events  to  pardon  you,  I  am  forced  to  suppose 
you  a  forlorn  captive  among  your  cruel  enemies.  See  what  a 
woman's  confidence  and  imagination  can  do !  I  am  not,  (I 
hope)  one  of  the  class  of  my  sex  who  make  themselves  misera- 
ble about  *  the  milk'  which  they  expect  to  spill  next  week;  and 
therefore  hold  it  to  be  the  worst  philosophy— or  no-philosophy 
— in  the  whole  world,  to  hasten  the  advent  of  coming  ills,  if 
they  rmll  come,  they'll  be  with  us  soon  enough ;  and  if  they 
will  not  come,  our  fretting  is  all  feeling  wasted.  If  one  be  of 
the  crying  mood,  Ihe  wicked  present  furnishes  quite  enough  ills 
to  consume  all  onr  teats  w*\l\vo\]iV  xe'eicXxva^  forward ;  and  if  he 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  289 


be  stoical  and  obdurate,  the  miseries,  even  when  they  come, 
will  not  affect  him. 

But  I  am  *  sobering  down.'  When  one  begins  to  philoso- 
phise he  is  very  near  crying — notwithstanding  the  effort  to  the 
contrary ;  indeed,  the  very  effort  shows  the  inclination.  And 
in  truth,  although  I  commenced  with  the  intentign  of  writing  a 
cheerful  letter,  I  am  very  much  nearer  tears  than  smiles.  I 
Imve  some  bad  news  to  tell  you,  and  I  feel  that  I  am  doing  it 
very  awkwardly.  But  you  know  I  never  wrote  to  you  before 
and  it  is  unfortunate  that  I  should  begin  with  such  tidings. 
Perhaps  it  would  have  been  better  if  I  had  gone  straight  to  it 
in  the  outset,  without  any  affectation  of  a  cheerfulness  which  I 
do  not  feel.  So  without  further  delay  I  will  tell  it  to  you  at 
once. 

**  You  are  accused  oi  forgery;  and  worst  of  all  you  are  ao- 
cosed  by — my  father !  That  his  daughter  does  not  join  him  in 
the  suspicion  witness  this  letter — no,  not  for  one  moment !  But 
he  does  believe  it,  I  have  no  doubt,  fully.  Upon  what  grounds 
I  do  not  exactly  understand — although  the  whole  story  has  been 
detailed  to  me  more  than  once.  I  will,  however,  endeavor  to 
recall  enough  of  it  to  enable  you  to  know  with  what  you  are 
charged — perhaps  then  your  own  better  information  may  enable 
you  to  ascertain  your  position.  It  seems  that  my  father  refused 
to  sign  a  paper  with  you  to  be  given  to  Mr.  Maniiing ;  for  what 
purpose  I  do  not  know — yes,  to  borrow  some  money.  Well,  he 
says  he  left  the  paper  at  your  studio  with  a  note  explaining  the 
reasons  why  he  refused,  and  heard  no  more  of  it.  Time  passed 
on  until  a  few  weeks  ago,  when  he  discovered  that  the  paper 
had  been  given  to  Manning  by  t/ou,  with  his  name  subscribed 
in  the  very  place  where  he  refused  to  put  it.  Manning  says  he 
gave  you  the  money  and  received  this  paper  ;  and  their  conclu- 
sion is  irresistible,  they  say,  that  you  signed  the  name. 

"  Several  of  your  friends,  with  whom  I  have  talked,  say  that 

the   signature  of  your  name  is  undoubtedly  genuine,  and  that 

my  father's  name  is  as  unguestionabJy  a  forgery,  thpu^Yv  sVX^X- 

J3 


j890  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


fully  executed.  Can  it  be  that  some  one  has  got  possession  of 
the  paper  after  you  signed  it»  and  after  affixing  my  father's 
name,  presented  it  to  Manning  ?  And  yet  this  supposition  is 
excluded  by  Manning's  positive  statement,  that  he  received  it 
from  you^  and  paid  you  the  money  :  and  when  money  is  lo  be 
paid,  from  M.'s  character,  I  should  think  he  would  be  careful 
enough.  He  is  a  singular,  hard  man,  it  is  said,  and  seems  much 
incensed  at  what  he  calls  « the  trick*  played  off  on  him.  Thorn- 
ley,  (father's  lawyer  since  Thorpe's  absence,)  says  *  Manning 
views  the  affair,  not  so  much  as  a  crime,  by  which  the  laws  of 
the  land  have  been  violated,  as  a  stratagem,  in  which  he  has 
been  circumvented  ;*  and  /  say  that  Thornley,  like  most  law- 
yers, I  suspect,  thinks  more  of  the  violation  of  the  *  laws  of  the 
land'  than  he  does  of  the  violation  of  the  laws  of  honor.  My 
father  is  very  indignant,  *  not,*  he  says,  *  on  account  of  the  pal- 
try thousand,'  (which  is  natural,  since,  as  I  am  told,  he  will  not 
have  it  to  pay,)  but  on  account  of  the  *  felonious  use  of  an 
honorable  name.* 

"  These  things  gall  me,  Vernon,  exceedingly,  and  make  me 
splenetic  sometimes,  even  to  my  dear  father.  The  *  hue  and 
cry'  against  you,  and  the  infamous  manner  in  which  they  have 
treated  your  father  make  me  even  undutiful ;  and  I  fear  that,  if 
I  could  be  this  moment  convinced  of  your  guilt,  my  wrong  feel- 
ings would  make  me  justify  you.  Not,  Vernon,  that  I  even 
have  such  a  thought — no!  I  am  as  positively  certain  of  your 
innocence  as  I  am  of  my  own.  I  am  certain  that  you  have 
been  made  the  victim  of  an  infamous  plot ;  and  I  am  equally 
certain  that  if  you  were  even  guilty  of  this  act,  you  would  be 
better,  a  thousand  times  better,  than  many  who  are  now  railing 
against  you.  Old  Manning  has  seized  the  house  in  which  you 
left  your  father,  as  he  says,  to  secure  the  debt.  Father  offered 
Mr.  Vernon  an  asylum,  but  he  refused  it-^-as  he  should  have 
done  ;  and  is  now  boarding  comfortably  in  the  upper  part  of  the 
city.  I  called  to  see  him  yesterday;  and  promised  him  to 
vrite  this  letter.     He  is  voq  feeble  to  write  much,  though  in 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  291 


general  good  health.  Mr.  Clayton  who  almost  alone  believes 
you  innocent,  and  is,  therefore,  doubly  my  friend,  has  underta- 
ken to  deliver  this  as  soon  as  possible.  "When  you  return, 
which  of  course  you  will  do  immediately,  you  should  persuade 
him  to  come  with  you.  He  is  said  to  be  a  lawyer  of  fine  ta- 
lents ;  I  know  him  to  be  a  man  of  the  very  best  feelings ;  and, 
more  than  all,  he  believes  in  your  innocence.  In  this  last 
quality  he  is  almost  alone,  as  I  said  before  ;  everybody  believes 
you  guilty  but  me.  They  say  the  evidence  is  too  strong  ;  and 
they  say,  moreover,  that  you  will  never  return.  I  know  bet- 
ter— but  what  can  my  feeble  voice  eflfect  ? 

'<  There  is  one  other  circumstance  which  gives  me  some 
hope  that  you  may  be  able  to  establish  your  innocence — con- 
firms me,  indeed,  in  the  belief  that  you  are  the  victim  of  a  plot. 
It  is  this :  an  accident,  which  I  will  explain  when  I  see  you,  put 
me  in  possession  of  a  note,  addressed,  I  think,  to  you,  written 
and  signed  by  my  father — the  same  note,  I  presume  intended  to 
convey  to  you  his  refusal.     It  is  as  follows  : 

«* '  Dear  Mr.  V. : 

«*  *  On  examining  the  state  of  my  affairs,  I  find  it  impossible  to 
accommodate  you.  With  the  security  of  this  valuable  property, 
however,  I  doubt  not  you  can  easily  have  it  done.  I  am  called 
away,  so  as  not  to  be  able  to  redeem  the  appointment.  Hoping 
you  may  find  no  difficulty  in  so  doing,  I  remain 
"  *  Your  most  humble  servant  and  friend, 

"»J.  Talbot.* 

"  I  preserved  this  paper,  because  I  thought  it  strange  that  it 
should  be  in  the  hands  of  him  through  whom  I  got  it.  I  have 
said  nothing  about  it  in  all  the  fermentation,  because  the 
scandal-mongers  would  seize  upon  the  fact  of  its  being  in  my 
possession,  to  say  that  you  must  have  had  it.     For  they  already 

say  that  I  am  far  too  much  interested  in  a  man  who  has- , 

you  can  fill  up,  I  am  too  impatient  to  write  it.     I  st?ite  lYve^i^ 


292  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


things,  at  the  risk  of  wounding  your  feelings,  in  the  hope  that  a 
full  knowledge  of  your  position  may  hasten  your  return. 

"  I  have  now  related  the  whole  story,  I  believe,  fully ;  but  I 
cannot  close  without  urging  you  to  return  as  soon  as  possible. 
I  have  not  said  more  than  I  could  avoid  about  my  own  feelings, 
for  I  know  I  can  safely  leave  them  to  your  imagination.  My 
confidence  in  you  is  not  impaired — I  am  as  firmly  as  ever  what 
I  was  when  we  parted — but  you  mtist  come  home.  I  cannot 
wait  longer  than  it  will  take  you  to  reach  here.  I  know  I  need 
not  urge  you,  and  yet  I  cannot  help  it.  If  I  close  this  letter 
without  any  more  tender  expression,  you  must  not  attribute  it 
to  change,  but  believe  that  I  am,  as  truly  as  ever, 

«  Yours, 

«  Cara." 

Vernon  read  the  letter  through,  and  then  covered  his  face 
with  his  hands.  The  din  of  battle,  now  fast  approaching  them 
again,  came  to  his  ears  unheeded.  But  his  mind  was  far  too 
elastic  to  be  stunned,  even  by  such  a  blow  as  this,  for  any  very 
long  time.     He  raised  his  eyes  to  Clayton's  and  took  his  hand. 

**  You  know  the  contents  of  this  ?"  he  asked. 

"In  part,  I  suppose  I  do,"  Clayton  answered. 

**  And  you  believe  me  innocent?*'  Allen  pursued. 

"  I  have  not  a  doubt  of  it,"  said  the  other. 

**  Thank  you — thank  you !"  he  exclaimed,  pressing  his  haad 
warmly.  "  She  says,"  he  continued,  looking  at  the  letter, 
•'  that  you  alone  believe  it.     Will  you  return  with  me  ?'' 

"  It  is  your  intention  to  go  immediately,  then  ?" 

"To-morrow,  if  the  fight  closes." 

"  I  had  already  tendered  my  resignation,"  said  Clayton, 
"  when  the  prospect  of  a  fight  induced  me  to  withdraw  it.  But 
if  we  survive  the  bau\e,  1  'wVW  ^o  -wVxVi  ^ou  gladly." 


TALBOT  AND  VEKNON.  293 


"  Thank  you,  once  more  I"  Vernon  exclaimed ;  but  he  had 
time  to  say  no  more.  A  column  of  lancers  came  galloping 
down  the  plateau,  and  the  loud  commands  of  the  officers  called 
every  man  to  his  post.  Scarcely  was  the  line  formed,  before 
the  cavalry,  struggling  over  a  narrow  barranca,  put  spurs  to 
their  fiery  horses,  and  dashed  at  the  straggling  force.  They 
came  on  in  beautiful  order,  the  many-colored  pennants  of  their 
lances  fluttering  in  the  wind,  and  their  prancing  horses  springing 
lightly  and  evenly  over  the  broken  ground.  At  a  word  from 
their  commander,  every  lance  was  levelled,  and  the  pennants 
were  flecked  with  foam  from  the  champing  bits. 

"Steady!     Steady,  my  men!"  shouted  the  Colonel,  "and 
fire  low  !"  Wait  for  the  word !     Wait  for  the  word !" 

The  officer  allowed  them  to  come  within  a  hundred  yards, 
before  he  gave  the  word  to  fire.     Then  stepping  out,  he  cau- 
tioned them  again  to  "  aim  low,"  and  gave  the  signal.     No  vol- 
ley was  fired — no  booming  sound  of  many  guns  at  once — ^for 
nothing  is  less  effective  in  checking  permanently  a  charge  of 
cavalry  ;  but  that  same  "  fire  by  file,"  (in  technical  language,) 
the  rolling  fire  from  right  to  left,  which  checks,  confuses,  and 
routs  a  column  sooner  than  anything  else,  ran  all  along  the  line 
like  the  firing  of  a  train.     The  front  companies  drew  violently 
up,  the  rear  cam-a  thundering  on,  and  in  one  minute  the  whole 
mass  was  one  cloud  of  confusion.     Many  a  horse  and  rider  bit 
the  dust  together,  and  many  a  lancer  was  killed  by  the  press, 
whom  not  a  ball  had  touched.     A  random  volley  of  escopets 
attempted  to  answer  the  murderous  fire  of  the  Americans  ;  but 
nearly  all  the  balls  passed  high  over  their  heads,  wounding 
none.     To  extricate  himself  from  the  crowd  was  now  e^c\i 
man's  aim,  and  in  £ve  minutes  the  plain  was  coveied  "wVxXi 


294  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 

fugitives,  making  for  the  mountain.  A  vigorous  charge  vnih 
the  bayonet  drove  the  remainder  from  the  field,  and  a  few  well- 
directed  shots  from  a  battery  of  twelve  pounders,  made  the 
rout  a  race  for  life.  They  rode  furiously  towards  a  gorge  in 
the  mountain,  formed  by  two  ridges  jutting  out  into  the  plain, 
and  surrounded  on  three  sides  by  inaccessible  rocks  and  pre- 
cipices. Here  they  met  a  large  body  of  another  cavalry  corps, 
who  had  just  been  repulsed  by  the  third  Indiana  and  second 
Mississippi  regiments,  under  the  command  of  Colonel  Davis, 
(who  formed  his  singular  half-square  or  V,  to  receive  their  charge,) 
and  thus  were  massed  in  the  space  of  four  acres,  at  least  five 
thousand  men. 

A  slight  advance  of  the  corps  with  which  our  friends  Ver- 
non and  Clayton  were  fighting,  efiectually  cut  off  the  retreat 
of  this  force  to  the  main  body.  Lieutenants  Sherman,  Kil- 
burn,  and  O'Brien — the  first  and  third  on  the  fianks,  and  the 
second  in  front — were  pouring  into  the  dense  mass  an  enfilad- 
ing fire,  which  did  fearful  execution.  Every  gun  was  coolly 
trained,  and  told  with  the  certainty  of  rifle  shooting,  tearing 
open  the  columns,  and  reaping  down  whole  companies.  The 
mountain  enclosed  them  on  three  sides,  and  a  half  circle  of  fire 
enclosed  them  on  the  other.  It  was  impossible  for  them  to 
hold  out;  ten  minutes  more  must  witness  their  surrender,  and 
the  defeat  of  the  Mexicans.  But  at  this  juncture,  Santa  Anna 
was  true  to  his  fame.  A  white  flag  was  seen  fluttering  in  the 
wind,  and  an  officer  came  forward  to  General  Taylor,  with  the 
inquiry — "  What  he  wanted  ?**  The  General,  as  had  no  doubt 
been  foreseen,  immediately  ordered  the  artillery  to  cease  firing; 
the  frightened  mass  were  surprised  by  a  respite,  and  galloping 
towards  the  right  oi  tbe  A.mfti\c»xv  \\Tift,>i)cie^  iorcCKSRvth  com- 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  295 


menced  a  retreat  along  the  mountain,  and  directly  under  the 
American  guns. 

Greneral  Wool  was  despatched  to  the  hostile  lines,  with  an 
answer  to  the  inquiry,  and  the  Americans  remained  inactive. 
He  advanced  within  the  Mexican  lines,  and  endeavored  to  pro- 
cure a  cessation  of  the  firing.  But  the  object  of  the  flag  was 
already  gained,  and  the  General  returned  to  his  post.  The 
guns  opened  again  ;  but  the  bird  had  flown !  The  whole  mass, 
who,  a  few  minutes  before,  were  completely  in  our  power,  had 
profited  by  the  stratagem,  and  gained  the  main  body  of  the 
Mexican  army.  The  crafty  politician  had  outwitted  the  honest 
old  soldier ! 

The  day  was  now  far  advanced.  The  Americans  had  re- 
gained the  ground  lost  in  the  morning,  and  the  Mexicans  were 
doggedly  removing  their  more  advanced  guns,  and  slowly  re- 
tiring from  the  field.  A  straggling  fire  was  still  kept  up  be- 
tween the  fixed  batteries,  but  everything  denoted  a  cessation 
for  the  night.  The  exhausted  infantry  were  lying  round  the 
guns,  and  the  cannoniers  were  resting  from  their  fatigues. 


CHAPTER    VII. 

"■  It  gires  me  wonder 
^  To  tee  jon  here  before  me."— CemioLAfrTTs. 

**  The  conflict  grew ;  the  din  of  wtr^the  jrell 
Of  MTage  rage— the  shriek  of  agony — 
The  groan  of  death,  conuningled  in  one  lovnd 
Of  undisting^iihed  horrors.*' — Southt. 

Vernon  and  Clayton  at  last  found  an  oppcurtunity  for  conver- 
sation, while  enjoying  the  temporary  calm.  The  former  had 
briefly  related  the  incidents  of  his  absence,  closing  with  the 
capture  by  Mifion's  men  of  Manning,  when  Cc^onel  Thorpe 
was  seen  advancing  towards  them,  evidently  for  the  purpose  of 
speaking  to  Allei^ 

"  You  had  better  let  him  believe  that  Hugh  is  dead,'*  hastily 
said  Clayton  ;  "  I  will  give  you  the  reason  afterwards." 

"  But — "  commenced  Allen. 

"  Tell  him  so,"  interrupted  the  other,  "  if  it  becomes  neces- 
sary, and  trust  me  for  the  reason — it  is  of  great  importance." 

Allen  had  no  time  to  reply.     Thorpe  advanced,  warmly  ex- 
tending his  hand,  and  expressing  a  cordial  **  welcome  back !" 
Allen  took  it  in  the  same  spirit ;  and  no  one  who  had  seen 
them,  would  have  suspected  from  their  bearing,  that  one  was 
plotting  the  other's  destruction ! 
"  You  have  encounteted  mwoY  ^wi^ct^J'  «i\^  ^V^ati^e^  in  a 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  297 


tone  of  interest ;  "  and  unluckily  you  have  returned  just  in 
time  for  more." 

**  Luckily,  rather,**  answered  Allen ;  "I  would  not  have  been 
a  day  later  for  a  colonelcy.** 

"  You  value  neither  your  security  nor  your  preferment,**  said 
the  Colonel,  with  a  smile.  "But  what  has  become  of  your 
companion  ?** 

Vernon  caught  a  quick  glance  from  Clayton,  and  replied — 

"  He  is  where  our  friendship  cannot  avail  him.** 

"  How  did  it  happen  ?**  asked  the  other,  in  apparent  surprise. 

"  He  was  shot  by  a  party  of  lancers  on  the  other  side  of  the 
mountain,  while  endeavoring  to  cross  to  the  camp.** 

"  Were  you  with  him  ?**  asked  Thorpe. 

"  Yes,**  Allen  answered ;  "  and  with  difficulty  escaped  the 
same  fate.** 

The  Colonel  heaved  a  deep  sigh,  but  Clayton  saw  it  was 
more  a  sigh  of  relief  than  of  sorrow. 

"  Well,  well,*'  he  said,  "  it  has  been  the  fate  of  many  a 
brave  man  to-day,  and  will  probably  be  that  of  many  more  be- 
fore sunset.** 

Before  Allen  could  reply,  a  staff  officer,  whom  they  recog- 
nized as  a  Quarter-Master  on  the  staff"  of  General  Wool,  rode 
briskly  up  the  slope,  followed  at  a  distance  by  two  squadrons 
of  dragoons,  and  turned  towards  0*Brien*s  battery.  The  latter 
was  supported  by  five  companies  of  the  first  Illinois  foot,  under 
Colonel  Hardin ;  and  both  infantry  and  cannoniers  were  rest- 
ing on  the  stony  ground.  The  Colonel  sprang  to  his  feet  as 
the  officer  approached,  and  eagerly  received  his  commands. 

"  Colonel  Hardin,*'  said  he,  *»  you  are  now  ordered  to  charge. 

Hasten,  or  the  dragoons  will  deprive  you  of  the  YiOTaoiT* 

13* 


296  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


The  order  was  received  with  a  shout,  and  every  man  sprang 
to  his  feet,  and  hastened  into  line.  The  Colonel  had  repeatedlyi 
daring  the  day,  asked  permission  to  charge  a  battery  posted  on 
the  American  left,  but  it  was  always  refused — ^the  Greneral 
deeming  it,  correctly,  no  doubt,  a  rash  desire.  But  the  permis- 
sion had  come  at  last — rendered  significant,  too,  by  the  qualify- 
ing word,  "  now,**  used  by  the  officer ;  and  the  Colonel  very 
naturally  construed  the  order  as  a  direction  to  do  what  he  had 
before  wished  to  do.  He  turned  his  eyes  to  the  point  previous- 
ly occupied  by  the  battery ;  but  it  was  gone  I  Following  the 
line  of  the  mountain  with  his  eye,  he  descried  it  moving  to  the 
rear,  and  already  far  within  the  Mexican  lines."^  But  this 
made  no  difference  to  the  chivalrous  Colonel.  He  immediately 
ordered  his  battalion,  (numbering  some  three  hundred  men,)  to 
advance  by  the  right  of  companies,  and  filing  to  the  right,  he 
passed  between  0*Brien*8  guns,  and  commenced  an  advance  iu 
double  quick  time,  in  the  direction  of  the  retreating  battery. 

He  had  first  to  cross  an  open,  bare  plateau,  of  about  a  quar- 
ter of  a  mile  in  extent,  totally  void  of  vegetation,  and  affording 
no  cover  of  any  description.  This  was  bounded  by  a  deep  ra- 
vine, running  from  the  road,  and  heading  somewhat  above  the 
line  of  his  advance.  On  the  other  side  of  this  ravine  was  ano- 
ther plateau,  of  about  the  same  extent,  only  sloping  away  to- 
wards the  Mexican  position,  and  covered  by  a  species  of  plan- 
tain, which  afforded  sufficient  cover  for  five  thousand  men.  The 
handful  of  soldiers  had  nearly  crossed  the  plateau,  in  the  head- 
long, disorderly  fashion  of  a  volunteer  charge,  and  were  within 

*  When  I  speak  of  <«  the  lines'*  of  either  army,  I  mean  the  ground 
covered  by  their  guns,  and  held  without  contest.     Whether  this  be  tech- 
Dical  or  not,  I  am  not  sufRcienWy  \ftwu%^  vck  mvUtary  matters  to  know; 
ind  hence  this  note. 


TALBOT^ND  VERNON.  299 


one  hundred  yards  of  the  edge  of  the  ravine,  when  their  ad- 
vance was  suddenly  checked.  A  roar  of  musketry  boomed  out 
from  among  the  plantain,  louder  and  better  sustained  than  any- 
thing yet  heard  that  day ;  at  the'  same  moment  a  cloud  of  Mex- 
ican infantry  rose,  like  the  warriors  of  Clan  Alpine,  from  their 
cover,  and  began  rapidly  to  deploy  both  to  the  right  and  left. 
The  little  band  had  unexpectedly  rushed  upon  the  whole  Mex- 
ican reserve — a  body  of  four  thousand  fresh  troops,  who  had 
been  lying  concealed,  for  the  purpose  of  giving  the  finishing 
stroke  to  the  expected  victory  ! 

The  devoted  battalion  went  down  before  the  hurricane  of 
balls,  "  like  corn  before  the  reaper," — a  spectator  might  have 
thought  them  slain  to  a  man.  But  it  was  not  so.  At  the  com- 
mand of  their  colonel  they  had  thrown  themselves  upon  the 
ground,  to  avoid  the  fire  until  they  could  ascertain  from  whence 
it  came.  Not  long  were  they  kept  in  ignorance.  The  deploy- 
ing mass  emerged  to  the  right  and  left  from  among  the  plantain, 
and  began  to  wheel  in,  as  if  to  envelope  them  completely.  The 
Colonel  sprang  to  his  feet  and  waved  his  sword — the  battalion 
rose  from  the  ground  and  re-commenced  their  charge  at  a  run. 
Passing  each  flank  of  the  enemy,  they  pushed  on  towards  the 
centre.  A  deep  and  wide  ravine  lay  across  their  path;  but 
dashing  madly  down  its  precipitous  side  they  commenced  a 
scramble  for  the  opposite  plateau.  It  was  impossible  to  gain  it  I 
Three  several  times  they  attempted  to  gain  a  footing :  but  they 
were  as  often  driven  back  by  the  hurricane  of  balls.  At  last 
Hardin  ordered  them  to  form  along  the  brow  of  the  hill.  Obe- 
dient, even  in  such  a  moment,  they  opened  their  fire. 

"Aim  low,  boys'."  shouted  Hardin.  *'  Let  no  man  pull  a 
trigger  without  a  sight  upon  his  man  I     It  is  the  on\'y  c\iWk&^^-^ 


300  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


Scarcely  more  than  two  hundred  had  reached  the  line  ;  but 
every  man  was  now  a  soldier ;  officers  seized  the  muskets  of 
the  slain  and  plied  them  in  the  ranks ;  and  few  shots  were  fired 
without  effect.  The  dense  mass  before  them  offered  a  mark  not 
to  be  missed,  and  all  along  the  line  the  tall  hats  of  the  infantry 
went  by  hundreds  to  the  earth.  Cheer  after  cheer  had  rung 
over  the  plain  during  the  whole  day ;  but  here  there  was  no 
cheering.  Stern  silence  and  compressed  lips  marked  the  des- 
peration of  the  fight.  And  now  came  Bissell,  with  the  glorious 
second  Illinois  foot ;  and  for  a  moment  there  was  a  hope  of 
victory  ;  but  the  masses  still  closed  in,  the  movement  was  only 
checked.  The  Mexican  right  and  left  had  outflanked  the  little 
band  and  were  still  wheeling  in;  their  fire  took  the  Americans 
in  front,  fiank  and  rear.  There  was  another  gleam  of  hope  :  the 
chivalrous  McKee  came  rushing  up  with  his  Kentuckians,  and 
the  American  force  was  trebled.  But  the  movement,  suspended 
for  a  moment,  again  commenced,  and  a  long  line  of  red  cockades 
approached  the  brow  of  the  ravine  on  the  Kentuckian  right. 
Upon  the  other  flank  the  fight  had  become  almost  hand-to-hand; 
and  although  hundreds  were  swept  down,  the  maddened  host 
moved  steadily  forward.  It  seemed  that  the  devoted  band  were 
to  be  literally  driven  from  the  ground,  at  the  point  of  the 
bayonet. 

The  fight  was  hopeless  from  the  first  moment  of  its  inception, 
and  time  had  only  made  it  worse.  The  men  were  fatigued  and 
worn  out ;  their  cartridges  began  to  fail,  and  many  of  the  guns, 
which  they  had  not  had  time  to  clean,  began  to  miss  fire  and 
choke  with  powder.  But  still  the  fight  was  nobly  sustained, 
and  a  deafening  roar  filled  the  ravine,  and  echoed  among  the 
moumains,  for  many  a  mWe.    TYve^^^\<i.^wl^\^^,Vv^^  «.huge 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  301 


giant,  had  spread  abroad  its  arms,  as  if  to  embrace  and  cmsh 
them.     They  were   completely  surrounded,  except  upon  one 
side,  where  the  breadth  of  the  ravine,  about  sixty  yards,  still  left 
a  narrow  path  open  for  retreat.     Hardin  sprang  upon  a  large 
rock  and  looked  over  the  field.     He  saw  there  was  but  one  way 
open,  and  even  in  that,  now  began  to  be  visible  the  fluttering 
pennants  of  a  body  of  lancers !     The  door  was  about  to  be 
closed,  and  the  band  shut  in  forever  I     They  were  lost,  and  all 
there  was  left  for  them  was  to  sell  their  lives  as  dearly  as  pofr* 
sible.     At  this  moment  an  aid-de-camp  galloped  through  the 
storm  of  bullets,  and  reached  the  Kentuckians  untouched.     He 
was  the  bearer  of  an  order  from  Greneral  Taylor  to  fall  back. 
It  was  high  time — nay,  it  was  doubtful  whether  it  were  not 
too  late !     It  seemed  as  if  the  bearer  of  the  order  had  only 
forced  his  way  into  the  jaws  of  Death !     For  the  lancers  were 
now  seen  slowly  advancing  up  the  ravine — a  glittering  mass  of 
many  colors!     The  order  was  passed  to  Bissell  and  by  him  tc 
Hardin,  who  was  still  standing  conspicuously  upon  the  rock, 
and   encouraging  his  men  in  efforts,  which  he  saw  could  onl] 
delay  their  fate  and  his.     He  received  the  order  and  cast  hit 
eyes  again  down  the  ravine.     To  retreat  was  as  dangerous  as  tc 
remain  where  they  were — it  seemed  that  there  was  no  escape 
For  him,  alas  !  there  was  none  ! 

"  We  must  fall  back,  my  men !"  he  said  in  a  tone  of  regre* 
"Retire  down  the  ravine  and  force  your  way  to  the  redoubt." 

They  needed  no  second  order.  Every  man  had  long  known 
it  was  a  hopeless  conflict — though  few,  very  few,  had  left  their 
comrades  without  an  order.  The  nature  of  the  ground  preclu- 
ded all  attempt  to  retire  in  order.  It  was  a  confused  rush  upon 
the  cavalry.     The  usual  order  of  battle  was  revetsed — ^Onft  iofiX 


302  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


were  charging  the  horse, — and  the  charge  was  desperate  and 
bloody.  Hardin  stood  upon  the  rock  until  the  last  of  his  men 
had  received  the  order  and  left  the  spot.  Casting  his  eyes  once 
more  towards  the  enemy  he  sprang  to  the  ground  and  followed 
his  men. 

In  the  meantime,  Taylor  had  ordered  up  the  third  Indiana 
foot  and  firagg's  light  battery,  to  stem  the  torrent.  It  was 
quite  a  mile  of  rough  ground  over  which  they  had  to  travel, 
and  horses  and  men  were  scarcely  able  to  move.  The  moment 
was  too  critical  for  delay  ;  and  aid  after  aid  was  despatched  to 
hasten  their  advance.  The  cannoniers  plied  whip  and  spur, 
the  horses  strained  every  muscle  ;  the  guns  rumbled  along  fas- 
ter than  ever  before;  the  infantry  put  their  shoulders  to  the 
wheels  and  pushed  them  painfully  up  the  hills.  The  effort 
was  a  convulsive  and  desperate  one — upon  one  minute's  speed 
depended  the  fate  of  the  day  !  At  last  they  cleared  the  last  ra- 
vine, and  got  a  run  of  the  ground  they  were  endeavoring  to 
reach.  Their  friends  had  left  it,  and  it  was  now  flooded  by 
Mexican  infantry !  The  tide  was  setting  rapidly  down  the 
plateau  towards  the  pass  of  Angastura.  Should  they  gain  that, 
all  was  lost ! 

Again  the  whip  was  plied,  a  shout  of  anger  and  of  sorrow 
went  up  to  Heaven  ;  horses  and  men  sprang  forward  to  within 
one  hundred  yards  of  the  Mexican  force.  In  a  moment  the 
guns  are  unlimbered,  the  infantry  formed,  and  a  storm  of  iron 
hail  is  poured  into  the  dense  columns.  The  advance  begins  to 
slacken,  they  turn  upon  the  guns  and  attempt  to  charge.  It  is 
too  much  !  they  are  driven  back,  and  long  lanes  are  opened  in 
their  ranks ;  broken,  rent  and  torn,  they  begin  to  waver  ;  they 
fall  into  disorder.     The  gvxna  ^x^  ^^yl^^  \s^  >iJcv^  ^Vsa^ls  and 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  303 


pushed  upon  them,  nearer  and  more  near,  quicker  and  more 
deadly  hurtle  the  shot.  A  few  turn  to  retreat,  the  example 
becomes  contagious,  and  the  whole  mass  rolls  back  like  a  wave, 
that  has  spent  its  force  upon  the  rock ! 

The  retreating  infantry  have  met  the  lancers  hand  to  hand. 
Fighting  in  inextricable  confusion  they  flow  out  of  the  mouth 
of  the  ravine,  upon  the  wheat  fields  beside  the  road.  Captain 
Washington  springs  upon  a  gun  and  waves  a  handkerchief — 
the  Americans  fall  upon  their  faces,  and  the  shot  rushes  over 
them,  tearing  the  lancers  to  pieces  and  driving  them  to  shelter. 
The  road  is  left  clear  to  the  exhausted  men,  and  the  battle  is 
over. 

In  this  retreat  the  American  loss  was  greater  than  during  the 
whole  day  before.  Hardin,  McKee  and  Clay  fell  fighting  in 
the  mdie.  The  victory  would  have  been  dearly  purchased  by 
the  life  of  either  one. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

**  The  fight  wu  o'ea,  the  flftshing  through  the  gloom, 
Which  robes  the  cannon  as  it  wings  a  tomb, 
Had  ceased ;  and  sulphury  vapors,  upward  driven, 
Itad  left  the  Earth  and  but  polluted  Heaven.''->THB  Island. 

*^  And  thousands  had  sunk  to  the  ground  overpowered. 
The  weary  to  sleep,  and  the  wounded  to  die.'' — Camtbsll. 

'*  One  woe  doth  tread  upon  another's  heel. 
So  fast  they  follow.'*— Hamlst. 

A  FIELD  of  battle,  when  the  strife  is  past,  is  a  melancholy 
sight.  The  high  excitement,  the  chivalrous  courage  and  the 
heroic  endurance,  all  the  nobler  traits,  which  almost  redeem 
war  from  the  charge  of  barbarism,  have  passed  away  with  the 
noise  and  din  of  battle  ; — man  has  leisure  to  look  around  upon 
the  work  of  his  passions,  and  to  reflect  upon  the  horrors  of 
strife.  Many,  whom  he  knew  but  a  few  hours  ago,  instinct 
with  life  and  warm  with  feeling,  now  lie  around  him  cold  and 
stiff"  and  dead — part  and  parcel  of  the  ground  upon  which  he 
treads,  and  void  of  feeling  as  the  rocks  among  which  they  lie. 
Many  at  whose  side  he  fought,  and  whose  voices,  cheering  on 
to  the  charge,  he  can  even  now  hear  and  remember,  lie  with 
rigid  faces  turned  to  Heaven,  and  with  fingers  convulsively 
grasping  the  earth.  Prancing  horses  and  stately  riders  lie 
together  ;  and  the  feet  of  some  are  even  yet  within  the  stinup 
where  they  fell.  Here  a  whole  rank  has  been  swept  down  by 
a  missile  more  deadly  iWii  ^xio\)ti^t  \  ^xA  \\v^  'precision  with 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  305 


which  they  lie,  with  their  feet  upon  a  line,  attest  their  steadi- 
ness in  the  hour  of  peril.  Here  is  a  ring  of  mangled  bodies, 
and  within  it  the  earth  is  torn  and  blasted,  where  a  shell  has 
bnrsted  in  their  midst.  Here,  a  confused  heap  of  dead  and 
dying,  where,  under  concentrated  fire,  man  after  man,  file  after 
file,  stepped  up  to  fill  the  places  of  the  slain.  There,  has  been 
a  charge  of  cavalry,  and  where  that  pile  of  horses,  men  and 
weapons,  lies,  was  the  head  of  a  gay  and  gallant  column  when 
the  fire  opened  on  them.  The  ground  is  trampled  with  the  feet 
of  many  horses,  and  the  stones  are  dabbled  with  blood ;  while 
banners  torn,  and  broken  lances,  lie  scattered  on  the  ground,  or 
still  grasped  with  the  last  hold  of  death  by  their  bearers.  But 
worse,  far  worse  than  all,  in  yonder  sheltered  nook,  Was  the 
field-hospital,  to  which  the  wounded  were  conveyed ;  and  piles 
of  mangled  limbs  attest  the  surgeon's  trade,  the  callousness  of 


war  I 


And  amid  all  this  carnage,  one  may  reflect,  how  was  it  that 
J,  too,  was  not  swept  down?  What  Hand  was  that  which 
turned  aside  the  balls  and  kept  me  safe,  where  so  many  better 
men  have  fallen  ?  What  fathomless  counsels  are  those  which 
still  reserved  me  from  Death — and  what  has  the  Future  yet  in 
store,  for  which  I  have  thus  been  saved?  With  feelings 
chastened,  mind  subdued-^with  mingled  gratitude  and  sorrow 
—one  may  turn  his  steps  away  and  seek  a  solitude  he  cannot 
find  among  the  dead  ;  and,  thinking  of  the  perils  multiplied 
through  which  that  Hand  has  led  him  safe,  reflect  what  duties 
rest  upon  a  life  so  signally  preserved  !  Well  would  it  be  for 
human  nature,  if,  from  the  consequences  of  its  own  infirmities, 
might  thus  be  drawn  the  lessons  of  wisdom,  thoroughlY  t.^>\%VyX 
and  faJthfnJJjr  improved  ! 


306  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


The  night  had  passed  away ;  although  not  without  alarm,  yet 
without  renewal  of  the  fight.  The  Americans  were  too  much 
weakened  by  their  losses  and  fatigues — indeed,  were  too  few  in 
numbers  at  the  first — ^to  think  of  leaving  their  entrenchments ; 
and  Santa  Anna  occupied  th,e  night  in  preparations  to  evacuate 
a  position,  which  had  witnessed  the  discomfiture  of  the  finest 
army  ever  raised  in  Mexico.  General  Taylor,  like  the  Roman 
General  Actius,  at  the  battle  of  Chalons,  was  unwilling  to  press 
a  partly-beaten  foe — preferring  to  allow  his  adversary  to  with- 
draw his  shattered  forces,  rather  than  to  risk  the  advantage  he 
had  gained,  by  pressing  him  too  closely.  He,  indeed,  received 
small  reinforcements  during  the  night,  but  even  with  these  his 
force  was  not  nearly  so  large  as  on  the  previous  morning.  His 
little  array  had  been  more  than  decimated.  Reinforced  with 
two  regiments  of  dragoons,  he  could  have  driven  the  retreating 
army  like  a  fiock  of  sheep  into  the  wilderness  beyond  the  Pass 
of  Fefiones  ;  but  these  regiments  he  could  not  get ;  and  it  was 
without  regret  that  on  the  dawning  of  the  morning,  he  beheld 
the  long  columns  of  the  enemy,  already  filing  in  among  the 
ranchos  at  Agua  Nueva.  Santa  Anna  had  chosen  to  retire  in 
the  night,  when  he  might  have  waited  patiently  till  the  morn- 
ing, and  gone  off  in  the  open  daylight  unmolested.  This  to 
the  victors  was  the  first  assurance  of  their  victory  ;  for  not  a 
man  who  lay  down  that  night  expected  aught  but  a  renewal  of 
the  fighting  at  the  dawn  of  day.  More  than  an  hour  was 
consumed  in  reconnoitreing,  lest  the  retrogade  movement  should 
be  only  a  ruse;  and  when  it  was  at  last  ascertained  beyond  a 
doubt  that  they  were  gone,  then,  and  not  before,  the  shout  oi 
victory  was  heard ! 
Eager  crowds  rusVied  otit  \rpoii  \.\i^  ^\a.\«aM,  \.^  ^^%k  for  miss- 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  307 


ing  comrades  or  view  the  havoc  of  the  fight.  Vernon  and 
Clayton  were  among  them,  seeking,  among  the  slain  and 
"wounded,  those  to  whom  they  might  administer  relief,  and  con- 
versing, as  they  wandered  over  the  field,  of  Vernon's  position 
and  plans.  Stopping  occasionally  to  examine  more  closely 
some  disfigured  form,  or  consign  some  wounded  man  to  the 
patrols,  they  at  last  found  themselves  on  the  extreme  left  of  the 
line,  and  within  the  gorge  where  so  much  slaughter  had  taken 
place  among  the  compact  cavalry.  Here  they  paused  and 
looked  around  them. 

"  The  artillery  has  done  fearful  execution  here,"  said  Allen. 

"  As  elsewhere,"  replied  Clayton.  "  I  presume  two-thirds  of 
those  killed  and  wounded  met  their  fate  from  the  artillery. 
Nothing  but  the  rapidity  of  their  evolutions  and  the  certainty 
of  their  training  would  ever  have  won  the  victory." 

"  Perhaps  not ;  and  yet  infantry  and  cavalry  fought  as  if  they 
were  not  to  be  conquered,  even  if  single  and  alone." 

"  They  might  not  have  been  conquered — probably  the  spirit 
they  manifested  would  have  prevented  that — but  they  must 
have  been  borne  down  by  weight  of  numbers.  Fatigue  alone 
would  have  lost  us  the  battle  in  another  day's  fighting." 

"  The  immense  extent  of  ground  we  had  to  cover  with  our 
small  force,  endangered  it  as  it  was.  Men  are  not  ubiquitous  ; 
and  yet  I  suppose  that  our  infantry  came  as  near  being  so  yes- 
terday as  ever  men  did." 

"  True,"  said  Clayton ;  "  and  there  was  probably  more  down 
right  running  in  this  battle,  both  from  and  towards  the  enemy, 
than  ever  was  known  in  battle  before.     It  was  a  race  from  be- 
ginning   to   end,  and   depended  more   upon  speed  than  upon 
power."        ^ 


308  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 

"  Yes  ;  and  I  believe  we  lost  far  more  in  running  from,  than 
towards,  the  enemy.  Indeed,  in  one  retreat  alone,  our  loss 
was  more  considerable  than  in  all  the  rest  of  the  fight.'* 

"  True,"  said  Clayton,  "  that  was  a  most  unfortunate  mis- 
take." 

"  What  is  this  ?"  exclaimed  Vernon,  suddenly,  pointing  to  a 
group  of  soldiers  carrying  a  body,  and  followed  by  a  woman. 

"  Some  poor  fellow  whose  wife  has  already  found  him,"  said 
the  other.     "  Let  us  meet  them." 

"  That  form  seems  familiar  to  me,"  said  Allen,  as  they  ap- 
proached.    "  Certainly  it  cannot  be  !" 

"  Cannot  be  what  ?"  asked  his  companion. 

But  Allen  had  left  him  ;  and  running  rather  than  walking,  he 
stopped  the  mournful  procession,  and  looked  into  the  blanket 
which  they  were  using  as  a  litter.  Turning  from  it,  he  stepped 
kindly  up  to  the  young  girl,  who  mechanically  stopped  as  he 
approached,  and  gently  took  her  hand. 

"  Catharina,"  said  he,  gently,  "  what  terrible  misfortune  is 
this?" 

She  pointed  to  the  form  of  her  father,  and  made  no  other 
reply. 

"  How  did  it  happen  ?"  he  asked. 

**  I  cannot  tell  you  now,  Seflor  Vernon,"  she  replied,  in  a 
voice  low  and  exquisitely  sorrowful,  but  still  calm  and  firm. 
"  Will  you  not  assist  me  to  get  him  conveyed  to  Saltillo  ?" 

"  Assuredly,"  said  he.     "  Do  you  wish  to  go  immediately  V* 

"  As  soon  as  possible,"  said  she  ;  "  I  have  relations  there." 

"  Here  is  a  wagon,  now,"  said  Clayton ;  "  I  will  stop  it." 

The  body  was  at  once  deposited  in  the  wagon,  and  by  the 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  309  ^ 

direction  of  Clayton  the  driver  turned  his  horses  towards  the 
city. 

"  Let  me  procure  you  some  other  conveyance/'  said  Allen. 

"  No,"  she  replied  ;  "I  will  walk  behind  the  wagon." 

"  I  will  go  with  you,"  said  Allen,  "  and  see  you  safely  among 
your  friends." 

"  Thank  you,"  she  replied,  calmly ;  "  I  was  about  to  ask  you 
to  do  so." 

"  You  will  be  back  to-day,  Vernon  ?"  asked  Clayton. 

"  Yes,"  said  Allen ;  at  a  sign  from  the  Lieutenant,  the  wagon 
moved  off,  followed  by  Catharina  and  Vernon,  in  silence. 

Catharina  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"  You  asked  me  how  this  happened,"  she  commenced,  mourn- 
fully. *<  I  can  tell  you  now,  I  think.  Soon  after  leaving  you 
we  descended  the  mountain  a  little,  with  the  purpose  of  gradu- 
ally approaching  tlie  plain,  and  thus  clearing  the  troops.  Keep- 
ing along  the  slope  for  about  half  a  mile,  we  came  suddenly 
upon  a  deep  ravine,  the  sides  of  which  were  too  precipitous  to 
attempt.  Here  we  remained  two  or  three  hours,  waiting  for 
the  troops  to  leave  this  part  of  the  field,  and  designing  to  pass 
round  the  ravine,  and  again  ascend  the  mountain.  We  had 
-waited  a  long  time — so  long  that  we  began  to  despair  of  reach- 
ing the  city  before  night,  when  a  heavy  cannonading  opened  at 
some  distance,  and  all  the  men  hurried  away,  leaving  the  path 
open.  We  lost  no  time  in  reaching  the  plateau,  and  had  cross- 
ed the  ravine,  when  we  saw  a  confused  mass  of  men  and 
horses  rushing  towards  us,  under  a  fire  which  was  tearing  them 
to  pieces.  We  endeavored  to  get  out  of  the  way,  and  ran  to- 
wards the  ravine  again.  I  remember  nothing  for  the  next  few 
moments  but  a  confused  trampling,  and  the  hurrymg  and.  ^omV 


310  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


ing  and  screaming  of  many  men.  I  was  knocked  down  and 
stunned  by  the  fall.  When  I  recovered  the  field  was  deserted, 
and  he  lay  beside  me  trampled  and  dead." 

She  stopped,  and  buried  her  face  in  her  hands. 

"  What  I  did  I  know  not,"  she  resumed ;  "I  tried — in  vain — 
to  bring  him  back  to  life  ;  and,  I  think,  wept  a  great  deal ;  for 
I  cannot  weep  any  more.  At  last,  when  night  was  about  clos- 
ing in  on  me,  I  rose  to  go  for  assistance.  But  I  was  bewil- 
dered, and  wandered  far  out  of  my  path.  When  at  last  I 
found  some  American  soldiers,  it  was  too  late  to  come  upon  the 
field.  They  said  it  was  in  possession  of  my  countrymen,  and 
the  fight  would  be  renewed  in  the  morning.  •  They  took  me  to 
a  rancho  in  the  valley,  where  I  was  forced  to  await  the  morn- 
ing. At  dawn  I  sought  them  again,  and  they  kindly  came 
with  me.  We  found  him  but  a  few  minutes  before  we  met 
you ;  and  all  I  can  do  now  is  to  see  him  buried  and  go  home." 

Her  voice  failed  her;  but  it  was  true,  as  she  had  said,  she 
could  weep  no  more.  In  that  long,  lonely  night,  her  grief  had 
consumed  itself  in  passionate  outbursts.  Her  spirit  was  bent 
to  the  earth ;  but  her  eye  was  without  moisture,  and  her  step 
was  firm.  She  walked  in  calm,  silent,  deep  sorrow  by  Allen's 
side. 

"  Have  you  near  relations  in  the  city  V*  Vernon  asked,  after 
a  long  pause. 

'*  An  uncle  and  his  family,"  she  replied. 

"  But  your  home  is  in  Monterey  V* 

"  Four  leagues  from  Monterey,"  she  replied,  "  at  Rinconada.'' 

"  Can  I  do  anything  to  assist  you  in  getting  there  ?"  he 
asked. 

"I  shall  have  no  ttouVAe,  1  \.\\mV"  ^^'cie  said.     "My  uncle 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  311 


will  see  that  I  have  none.  Forgive  me,"  she  continued,  after 
a  pause,  "  if  I  seem  not  to  appreciate  your  kindness — the  cause 
is  before  me." 

"  I  would  be  glad  to  serve  you,"  said  Allen,  "  even  if  you 
never  knew  it;  and  I  am  not  selfish  enough  to  wish  any 
thanks." 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  she  said,  mournfully ;  "  and  I  will 
trouble  you  with  one  commission.  Should  Sefior  Manning 
escape  from  captivity,  I  beg  you  will  tell  him  to  come  to  Rin- 
conada — I  shall  be  there  ;  and  come  with  him,  I  will  be  glad 
to  see  you  too." 

Vernon  assured  her  that  he  would  not  forget  it ;  and  soon 
afterwards  they  entered  the  streets  of  the  city.  She  pointed  to 
the  street  on  which  Seilor  Bonaro  lived,  and  soon  afterwards 
the  wagon  stopped  in  front  of  a  large  stone  house,  with  iron 
balconies,  and  broad  windows.  The  body  was  carefully  lifted 
from  the  wagon,  and  carried  into  the  house.  A  middle-aged 
man,  dressed  in  black,  came  out  and  received  Catharina  in  his 
arms.  Declining  a  pressing  invitation  to  enter,  Allen  took  Ca- 
tharina's  extended  hand,  pressed  it,  and  turned  away,  to  return 
to  the  camp. 


CHAPTEE    IX. 

**  What's  Hecuba  to  him,  or  he  to  Hecuba, 
lliat  he  ihottld  weep  for  her  ?"— Hamj^t. 

^  The  wearj  sun  hath  made  a  golden  set''— Riohabd  II. 

"  Now  began 
Night  with  her  sullen  wings  to  shade 
The  desert"— FAaAoisB  Lost. 

*<  Misery  acquaints  a  man  with  strange  l^ed-feUows."— >Tsicpkst. 

It  is  time  to  return  to  the  fortunes  of  our  unlucky  friend 
Manning.  His  wound  was  from  an  escapet  ball,  which  struck 
him  in  the  shoulder,  at  the  moment  when  his  whole  weight 
hung  upon  that  arm.  His  hold  was  broken,  and  he  fell,  as  we 
have  seen,  wounded  and  bruised  to  the  bottom  of  the  ravine. 
A  hasty  examination  by  two  or  three  who  sprang  to  the  ground, 
was  sufficient  to  satisfy  men  accustomed  to  casualties,  that  his 
wound  was  not  dangerous ;  and  hurridly  throwing  him  upon 
his  own  horse,  which  they  had  caught,  they  galloped  away 
with  him,  a  prisoner  in  their  midst.  Regaining  the  road,  or 
rather  the  plain  where  it  skirts  the  spurs  of  the  mountain,  they 
turned  again  to  the  north,  and  hastened  towards  the  Pass  of 
Falomas.  An  occasional  gun,  whose  booming  sound  came 
rolling  over  and  down  the  mountain,  quickened  their  pace; 
and  in  much  less  than  an  hour  after  liis  capture,  Hugh  found 
them  compelled  to  waVk  x.\ie\t  Yioi^ei^  w^  the  rugged  steeps 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  313 

leading  into  the  pass.  Here  the  first  party  was  joined  by  two 
or  three  others,  whom  our  friends  had  seen  approaching  across 
the  plain ;  and  by  the  time  they  had  well  entered  the  defile, 
they  numbered  not  less  than  one  hundred  men. 

Little  notice  had  been  taken  of  Hugh  thus  far,  and  in  their 
hurry  they  had  not  even  bound  him.     The  joining  of  the  other 
detachments,  therefore,  was  far  from  welcome  to  him ;  for  be- 
fore* their  arrival    he    began    to    entertain    hopes  of  escape. 
Bruised  and  bleeding  as  he  was,  his  was  not  a  spirit  to  yield 
to  despair ;  and  five  minutes  after  his  capture  had  hardly  pass- 
ed, before  he  began  to  revolve  schemes  to  elude  his  captors. 
No  opportunity,  however,  occurred  before  entering  the  defile; 
and  then,  the  joining  of  the  straggling  detachments  made  his 
plans  hopeless.     Still  further  to  dash  his  bold  spirit,  when  they 
had  cleared  the  rugged  path  and  attained  a  small  level  place 
some   distance  up  the  mountain,  the  leader  of  the  band  sud- 
denly called  a  halt,  and  riding  back  to  where  his  prisoner  was, 
ordered  his  feet  bound  together  under  the  horse's  belly.     Hav- 
ing given  this  order  in  broken  Spanish,  he  continued  in  good 
English — 

<*  I  am  sorry  to  put  such  an  indignity  upon  an  American 
officer,  as  I  perceive  you  are,  sir  ;  but  you  are  too  important  a 
prisoner  to  be  trusted  unbound  in  this  broken  pass." 

<'  I  would  have  appreciated  your  politeness  better,''  said 
Hugh,  coldly,  ''  if  it  had  been  spoken  in  another  language,  or 
if  you  had  ordered  my  wounds  bound  up,  before  you  shackled 

my  limbs." 

"  Your  remark  is  both  just  and  unjust,"  said  the  other,  calm- 
ly.    "  You  evidently  suppose  me  an  American,  but  you  must 

x^ecoUect   that  English  ia   spoken  in  other   couutnes  besv^^a 

14 


314  TALBOT  AND  VEBNON. 


America,  even  if  it  be  spoken  there^  which  I  doubt.  As  to 
your  wounds,  they  should  have  been  dressed  if  we  had  had  the 
means.  But  a  short  time  now  will  bring  us  to  the  camp,  and 
you  will  be  attended  to.     Bind  that  securely,  Martin.'' 

So  saying  he  turned  calmly  away ;  and,  though  smarting 
under  the  indignity  offered  him,  Hugh  could  not  help  admiring 
the  air  of  martial  grace  which  distinguished  every  movement 
of  his  lithe  and  well-knit  form.  He  hesitated  a  moment,  and 
then  turned  his  open  and  pleasing  face  again  to  his  prisoner. 

*'  I  ought  not  to  leave  you  in  doubt,  sir,"  he  said  ;  *'  for,  if 
your  supposition  were  correct,  I  would  deserve  all  your  con- 
tempt and  indignation.  I  therefore  tell  you  I  am  an  English- 
man ;  and  though  I  fight  against  your  arras,  no  man  can  more 
deeply  scorn  the  dastardly  spirits  who  have  deserted  their  colors 
and  joined  our  army.  Had  I  the  power,  I  would  hang  every 
man  of  them/' 

"  You  speak  like  a  soldier  and  a  man  of  honor,"  said  Hugh, 
warmly,  proffering  his  hand ;  "  and  I  ask  your  pardon  for  en- 
tertaining even  for  a  moment  so  injurious  a  supposition." 

"  It  is  granted  as  freely  as  asked,"  said  the  other,  taking  the 
extended  hand.  <*  I  hope  we  may  outlive  this  war,  and  meet 
under  more  favorable  circumstances.  Martin,"  he  added,  turn- 
ing to  the  man  who  had  bound  Hugh,  <' remove  those  cords; 
our  prisoner  will  not  leave  us." 

*«  Hold !"  cried  Hugh.  "  That  I  will  not  permit.  I  see 
what  you  intend.  You  think  your  confidence  reposed  in  me  is 
as  good  as  my  parole.  So  it  would  be,  if  I  permitted  it  to  pass 
imnoticed:  But  I  now  give  you  warning  that  I  shall  escape  if 
low'' 


^ 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  315 


"Take  them  off,  Martin,"  quietly  ordered  the  other.  "If 
you  can  escape,  do  so  ;  but  I  will  see  that  you  stay  with  us." 

"Very  well,"  said  Hugh,  "it  is  understood,  then.  Keep 
me  if  you^an — I  will  escape  if  I  can.  At  all  events,  I 'thank 
you  for  removing  the  cords." 

"  No  thanks  are  due,"  said  the  other  ;  "  I  never  intended  to 
let  them  remain  upon  you ;  I  wished  to  make  you  your  own 
guard." 

"  How  does  it  happen,"  Hugh'  asked  bluntly,  after  a  pause, 
"  that  an  honorable  and  brave  man,  like  you,  is  engaged 
with—" 

"  Pardon  me  for  interrupting  you,"  interposed  the  English- 
man ;  "  you  know  a  soldier  cannot  listen  to  any  disparagement 
either  of  his  superiors  or  of  the  cause  for  which  he  fights." 

"But  if  his  cause  be  a  bad  one  ?"  suggested  Manning. 

"  He  must  either  shut  his  eyes  to  the  fact,"  answered  the 
other,  "  or  quit  the  service." 

"  Then,  why  cannot  you — " 

"  Take  advantage  of  my  own  alternative  ?"  laughed  the 
other.  "  What !  While  the  war  is  actually  going  on  ?  Oh ! 
no !  You  speak  without  thought.  But  I  have  not  time  to  talk 
further  ;  I  must  hurry  on.  Come,  compaMeras,  you  are  suffi- 
ciently rested ;  mount,  and  away !  Martin,  lago,  Antonia. 
Andres,  see  that  our  prisoner  does  not  escape,  at  your  peril." 

The  troop  mounted,  the  four  he  had  designated  closed  around 
Hugh,  and  the  cavalcade  moved  slowly  on. 

"  Como  se  llama  su  commandante  ?**  asked  Hugh. 

"  El  Cornel  Melton,  se^or"  replied  one  of  the  men. 

Before  he  had  time  to  pursue  his  inquiries  farther,  a  loud 
command  to  "  close  up"  resounded  from  tl^e  £xont>  ^.u^  \)t!iA 


316  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


whole  body  galloped  forward,  and  formed  on  the  slope  at  the 
mouth  of  the  defile.  Soon  afterwards  a  body  of  lancers  was 
seen  painfully  climbing  the  hill,  and  slowly  emerging  upon  the 
table  land  above.  About  two  hundred  men  thus  came  out  of 
the  defile,  and  with  precision  and  rapidity  fell  into  a  line  im- 
mediately in  front  of  the  other  detachment.  They  were  ad- 
mirably trained  and  equipped,  well  mounted,  and  elegantly 
dressed  in  the  costume  of  the  light  cavalry  of  the  Mexicans. 
The  colors  of  the  pennants  upon  their  lances  were  the  same  as 
those  of  the  first  troop,  indicating  that  they  were  a  part  of  the 
same  battalion.  As  soon  as  they  were  formed,  the  Colonel,  for 
he  was  no  less,  rode  forward,  and  received  their  salute ;  then 
turning  to  the  officer  in  command,  he  took  a  letter  from  his 
hand,  and  broke  the  seal.  There  were  few  as  fine  looking,  and 
no  braver  men  in  the  Mexican  service,  than  Colonel  Melton ; 
and  as  Hugh  watched  his  calm,  easy,  and  graceful  bearing,  he 
again  regretted  that  such  a  man  should  be  enlisted  in  such  a 
cause. 

His  lip  curled  as  he  read  the  missive,  and  his  dark  brown 
motcstaches  seemed  full  of  the  expression  of  contempt. 

'*  Fight  already  gained !  victory  won !  fiauk  completely  turn- 
ed !  Surrender  in  the  morning !''  he  muttered,  in  a  tone  which 
could  only  have  been  dictated  by  scorn.  "  The  vain-glorious 
fool !  I'll  bet  twenty  to  one  he  has  been  entrapped  into  some 
mistake,  and  thinks  he  has  gained  an  advantage.  Here,  San- 
chez," he  continued  aloud  to  his  inferior  officer,  "  do  you  know 
the  contents  of  this  paper  ?     Were  any  verbal  orders  sent  ?" 

"  I  know  nothing  of  it,  sir,"  replied  Sanchez  ;  "  I  was  sim- 
ply ordered  to  join  you  with  two  hundred  and  fifty  men,  and 
accompany  you  where  tViat\fe\x^t  Avt^cts  you  to  go." 


I 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  317 


**  Was  nothing  said  about  any  prisoners  V* 

"  Nothing,  sefior" 

**  Then  I  will  take  him  with  me  at  all  hazards/'  he  mutter- 
ed. **  Reverse  the  flanks,  and  form  the  battalion/'  he  added, 
aloud  ;  "  we  must  reach  the  Tanca  de  San  Felipe  to-night.*' 

Sanchez  set  about  obeying  the  order  and  the  Colonel  rode 
towards  his  prisoner. 

<*I  am  ordered  to  the  neighborhood  of  Monterey,"  he  said, 
"  and  I  shall  be  forced  to  take  you  with  me.  This  letter  in- 
forms me  that  the  flank  of  your  army  is  completely  turned,  and 
that  nothing  delays  their  surrender  but  the  approach  of  night." 

**  And  you  are  ordered  to  superintend  the  operations  about 
Monterey  ?" 

"  Yes,  what  think  you  of  the  news  ?" 

"  I  think  that,  in  every  army,  there  are  two  flanks  and  a  cen- 
,  tre,"  said  Hugh,  "and  that  turning  one  of  the  former,  8om»- 
times  strengthens  the  latter." 

"  You  do  not  believe  Taylor  will  surrender,  then  ?" 

"  Not  without  a  fight,  certainly,"  said  Hugh  decidedly. 

"  That  is  my  opinion,  also,"  said  the  other  coolly.  "But  we 
must  away  ;  let  me  examine  your  wound." 

Hugh  submitted  quietly  to  have  his  shoulder  hastily  ban* 
daged,  and  soon  afterwards  the  augmented  battalion  were  wind- 
ing again  down  the  defile,  on  their  way  to  Monterey.  A  few 
minutes  brought  them  to  the  plain ;  and  putting  their  horses 
into  a  quick  trot,  they  followed  the  line  of  the  Sierra  towards- 
the  east  and  north.  The  scenery,  for  several  leagues,  did  not 
materially  difler  from  that  over  which  Hugh  had  ridden  in  the 
morning  ;  the  mountain  frowned  down  upon  the  plain,  and  the 
plain  stretched  boldly  up  to  the  mountain,  in  the  same  vjvj  \ 


318  TALBOT  AKD  VERNON. 

but  it  soon  became  perceptible  that  the  ground  sloped  towards 
the  easti  and  the  warmer  currents  of  air  occasionally  encoun- 
tered, indicated  a  lower  level,  and  a  more  sultry  climate  ahead. 
Gradually,  as  night  closed,  in,  Hugh  began  to  observe  that  the 
trees  were  larger  and  the  chaparral  thicker ;  and  occasionally 
he  could  see  a  tuft  of  grass  or  a  patch  of  green  sward  dotting 
the  plain,  which  a  few  leagues  behind  them  presented  a  sterile 
snrfiace,  upon  which  the  only  green  thing  was    the  cactus. 
Several  sharp  descents,  too,  marked  the  gradual  approach  to  the 
tierra  calierUe,  which  in  this  region  stretches  farther  from  the 
sea,  than  on  any  other  part  of  the  coast.     Among  the  moun- 
tains south  and  west  of  Monterey,  are  beautiful  valleys,  bear- 
ing all  the  characteristics  of  that  burning  belt,  except  its  insalu- 
brity— as  if  the  mountains  had  pushed  their  crests  up  through 
^he  plain  and  rifted  off  many  a  gem-like  vale,  enclosing  each  in 
a  setting  of  rugged  granite.     The   detachment  had  not  yet 
reached  one  of  these    pleasant  valleys,  but    they  were   near 
enough   to  catch   now   and   then  a  breath  of  air,  w^hich  bore 
upon  its  wings  the  perfume  of  the  garden  ;  and  as  they  hurried 
on,  descending  slope  after  slope  and  hill  after  hill,  although 
night  had  closed,  they   began  to  feel  that  the  temperature  was 
perceptibly  higher  and  softer.     Their  horses  were  jaded  and 
their  riders  fatigued ;  but  in  Mexico  the  length  of  the  journey 
is  not  regulated  by  the  strength  of  the  traveller,  or  of  his  horse, 
but  by  the  number  of  leagues  between  watering  places. 

They  were  upon  one  of  those  Jornadas  or  "  journeys,"  so 
common  in  Mexico,  where  no  water  is  to  be  found  often  for  a 
score  of  leagues  or  more ;  and  over  which  the  jaded  traveller 
must  go  in  a  single  day,  or  be  content  to  pass  the  night  withont 
water   for  himscU  ot  Yi\b  Yiotaa.    'Yio  Ck\>kN\aXe  this  difficulty 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  31^ 


where  the  amount  of  travelling  will  justify  the  labor,  or  where 

1 

the  Jornada  is  very  long,  large  Tancas  or  tanks,  have  in  many 
places  been  made,  thus  cutting  the  journey  in  two,  and  afford- 
ing a  welcome  relief  in  that  sultry  climate.  These  are  formed 
by  digging  large  holes,  in*the  shape  of  natural  ponds,  in  the 
earth,  and  so  "puddling''  or  lining  the  surface,  as  to  retain  the 
water  when  deposited  by  the  rains.  Most  of  these  benevolent 
and  wise  works  have  been  permitted  to  decay  by  the  miserable 
mockery  calling  itself  the  Republica  Mezicana,  The  writer  has 
passed  several  of  them,  in  places  where  they  are  of  almost  vital 
importance,  and  only  one  of  them  would  hold  water  an  hour, 
after  an  ordinary  rain ;  all  the  rest  had  been  allowed  to  decay 
and  become  worse  than  useless ;  and  even  that  one  too  often 
deluded  the  traveller  by  a  promise  unfulfilled. 

The  "Tanca  de  San  Felipe,"  at  which  Colonel  Me  ton  de- 
signed to  pass  the  night,  is  one  of  the  few  which  still  retains  a 
part  of  its  former  usefulness.  It  is  some  eight  Mexican  leagues 
from  the  Pass  of  Palomas,  and  agreeably  breaks  a  Jornada  of 
some  twenty  leagues,  on  the  road  between  Monterey  and  Meta- 
huala. 

As  night  closed  in,  the  colonel  fell  back  and  rode  beside  his 
prisoner,  kindly  offering  him  a  gourd,  which  hung,  filled  with 
-water,  at  his  saddle-bow.  It  was  a  refreshment  not  unwel- 
come ;  for  Hugh  had  tasted  no  water  since  noon,  was  wounded 
and  bruised,  and  had  been  in  the  saddle  all  day.  Those  who 
have  known  what  it  is  to  be  thirsty — not  merely  to  feel  as  if  a 
draught  of  water  would  be  pleasant,  but  to  be  actually  parched 
with  thirst — can  appreciate  the  blessing  of  such  a  kindness. 

"  That  revives  you,"  said  the  colonel,  smiling,  as  Hugh  drew 
himself  up  and  looked  around  him. 


320 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


«*Ye8,"  Hugh  replied,  "  I  feel  almost  strong  enough  now  to 
fight  your  battalion.'' 

"  Or,  at  all  events,  strong  enough  to  run  away  from  them," 
rejoined  the  colonel.  **  But  I  must  warn  you  that  it  would  be 
much  better  not  to  attempt  it.'' 

"  Why  so,"  asked  Manning. 

<<  Because  I  see  you  like  good  water,"  said  the  colonel,  "  and 
there  is  not  a  drop  within  ten  leagues  of  us,  except  at  the  place 
where  we  will  soon  halt." 

"You  enforce  your  advice  by  a  very  strong  argument,  at 
all  events,"  said  the  lieutenant,  laughing ;  "  but  I  suppose  yon 
gave  me  the  water  out  of  pure  kindness,  and  without  any  con- 
cealed purpose." 

"  The  motives  were  one  and  the  same  :  my  kindness  was  a 
concealed  purpose,  and  my  concealed  purpose  a  kindness.  I 
have  Eastern  blood  in  my  veins,  and  to  that  I  attribute  a  strong 
penchant  for  symbolical  teachings." 

"  I  thank  you  for  the  lesson,  as  well  as  its  medium,''  said 
Hugh. 

"  There  was  another  motive  I  had  in  speaking  to  you  thus," 
said  the  colonel,  after  a  pause.  '*  You  have  already  once  rode 
my  horse  oflf  within  twenty-four  hours,  and  you  are  now  upon 
his  back.  This  was,  however,  when  you  did  not  know  the 
owner ;  and  since  you  are  an  honorable  man,  and  now  know 
whose  property  he  is,  I  am  certain  you  will  not  again  deprive 
me  of  him." 

Hugh  looked  at  him  in  astonishment  too  great  to  reply. 

"  I  see  you  do  not  understand  me,"  continued  the  colooel. 

"1  will  explain.     Having  been  ordered  to  scour  the  country 

south  of  PiUones  for  supp\\fts,wi<\  X\iwv\.o  xcoJ&i^  «.  detour  to  the 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  321 


right  and  join  General  Mifion  by  the  Pass  of  Palomas,  I  drew 
off  all  of  my  regiment  then  with  Santa  Anna,  and  commenced 
my  march.  While  waiting  last  night,  beyond  Finones,  for  a 
guide,  my  attention  was  attracted  by  a  light  some  distance  from 
the  road ;  and,  dismounting  my  men,  and  leaving  the  horses 
piquetted  in  what  I  supposed  a  safe  place,  I  ascended  the  pla- 
teau. An  explosion  followed  which  I  could  not  explain  ;  and, 
on  reaching  the  place,  I  found  the  ruins  of  a  rancho  scattered 
around  upon  the  rocks,  and  burning  rafters  strewed  up  and  down 
the  ravines  for  many  a  rood.  But  not  a  man  was  to  be  seen  ; 
and,  after  a  fruitless  attempt  to  reach  the  spot  where  the  house 
had  stood,  I  beat  a  retreat.  What  was  my  surprise,  on  return- 
ing to  the  horses,  to  find  four  persons  mounted  on  as  many  of 
my  chargers,  and  all  the  rest  suddenly  stampeded  before  my 
very  face  I  It  was  well  done,  upon  my  soul  I  and  I  respect  you 
for  the  boldness  of  the  act.  I  am  glad,  too,  that  our  volley  did 
you  no  injury ;  for  it  left  you  free  to  execute  as  masterly  a 
retreat  as  Xenophon's !" 

"We  recovered  our  horses  soon  after  dawn, — the  most  of 
them — and  it  happened  that  our  path  was  the  same  as  yours. 
We  had  been  delayed  by  the  stampede,  and  had  to  ride  hard  to 
recover  lost  time  ;  so  that  at  last  we  overhauled  you,  and  thus 
you  are  a  prisoner." 

"  Well,"  said  Hugh,  laughing,  "  I  am  truly  glad  he  belongs 
to  you ;  for  if  I  had  played  the  same  trick  upon  one  of  these 
hombreSy  I  fear  I  would  have  fared  badly,  had  I  fallen  into  his 
hands  afterwards." 

"  You  would,  indeed,"  said  Melton,  "  but  you  are  safe  now 
— at    least,  so    long  as    you   make  no  effort  to  escape.      In 


322  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 

that  case,  I  fear  I  could  not  restrain  the  hombres  from  shooting 
you." 

« I  would  not  fear  their  bullets  much  at  fifty  yards  distance," 
said  Manning,  "  if  I  could  only  get  a  fair  start/* 

"  And  yet  that  gash  in  the  shoulder  ought  to  teach  you  re- 
spect for  their  skill,  at  least." 

'<  I  was  not  twenty  yards  from  the  muzzle  when  that  gun 
was  fired/'  rejoined  Hugh,  "  and  another  inch  to  the  left  would 
have  missed  me." 

<*  True  ;  and  another  inch  to  the  right  would  have  disabled 
you.  But  I  forgot  to  ask  you,  who  were  the  persons  with  yon 
who  escaped  ?     I  thought  one  of  them  was  a  woman." 

<<  You  are  right ;  a  friend  of  mine  named  Vernon,  and  a 
Mexican  cdbcUlero  named  Bonaro,  and  his  daughter,  Catharina, 
were  my  companions.     My  friend  and J" 

<<  Catharina  Bonaro  ?"  interrupted  Melton,  "•  of  Rificonada^ 
near  Monterey  ?" 

"  The  same  ;  do  you  know  her  ?" 

*  What,  in  the  name  of  all  that  is  good,  was  she  doing 
there  ?" 

Hugh  briefly  related  the  circumstances  under  which  he  had 
met  her,  and  the  catastrophe  which  had  driven  them  from  the 
rancho. 

"  And  do  you  know  whither  she,  or  rather  her  father  in- 
tended to  go  ?" 

"  To  Monterey,  I  think,"  answered  Manning, "  though  several 
days  must  elapse  before  they  can  reach  there." 

*'  I  wish  I  had  known  this  before,"  isaid  Melton  thoughtfully. 
^*  I  would  have  pursued  them  to  the  top  of  the  mountain,  but  I 
would  have  taken  tVvem,'' 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  823 

'*  For  what  purpose  ?''  asked  Hugh  sharply. 

*'  To  have  saved  them  the  annoyance  and  danger  they  must 
incur,  by  going  into  a  camp  on  the  eve  of  a  battle,"  said  Melton, 
and  in  his  tone  there  was  an  interest  which  Hugh  did  not  like. 

"  When  did  you  know  them  ?"  he  asked. 

'*  In  Matamoras  and  Monterey,  and  at  his  hacienda  of  Rinco- 
nada.     I  have  known  them  intimately  for  several  years.'' 

<*  Then  I  do  not  wonder  at  the  interest  you  manifest,"  said 
Hugh  frankly. 

"Is  it  because  you  feel  something  of  the  kind  yourself?" 
asked  Melton  coldly. 

'*  I  must  understand  the  nature  of  your  interest,"  said  Hugh, 
"  before  I  can  answer  that." 

**  Cautious  enough  !"  said  the  colonel,  in  a  tone  whose  con- 
temptuous sneer  made  Hugh's  blood  boil.  The  emotion,  how- 
ever, passed  in  a  moment ;  for  Melton  almost  immediately  re<* 
sumed  his  frank  and  easy  manner,  and  holding  out  his  hand  to 
Hugh,  continued : 

•*  Forgive  me  the  error,  seiior ;  I  have  no  right  to  insult  you 
at  any  time,  least  of  all  now ;  and  I  hope  I  am  too  much  a 
gentleman  to  seek  a  foolish  quarrel  even  with  an  enemy." 

<*  I  am  sure  of  it,"  said  Hugh  warmly,  taking  his  extended 
hand.  **  1  do  not  know  what  interest  you  may  have  in  the 
Seflora  Bonaro,  nor  was  I  aware  till  now,  that  you  had  ever 
met  her.  I  hope  you  will  do  me  the  justice  to  believe  me, 
when  I  say,  I  never  heard  your  name  pass  her  lips." 

"  Not  a  very  flattering  apology,"  said  the  colonel  smiling 
painfully  ;  "  though,  if  there  were  anything  to  excuse,  a  good 
one.  But  we  are  approaching  the  Tanca  :  we  will  speak  more 
of  this  at  another  time." 


324  TALBOT  AND  VSRNON. 


The  force  with  which  he  struck  his  spvucB  into  his  horse's 
flanks  and  galloped  to  the  front,  showed  that,  though  smothered 
by  a  high  sense  of  honor,  the  fire  was  still  burning.  Hugh 
gazed  after  him  with  feelings  not  very  dissimilar.  The  jealousy 
which  every  man  has  felt  at  some  period  of  his  life  was  rising 
in  his  heart.  But  a  little  reflection  soon  convinced  him  that  he 
had  no  reason  to  be  uneasy;  that  the  manner  of  the  colonel 
was  far  from  that  of  a  successful  rival.  And  he  was  right. 
Melton  had  met  Catharina  first  in  Matamoras,  as  he  had  stated. 
He  had  been  struck  with  her  beauty  and  vivacity,  had  become 
enamoured,  had  wooed  and  been  rejected.  It  was,  however, 
not  in  his  ardent  nature  to  despair ;  and  it  was  almost  wholly 
because  of  the  hope  he  still  cherished,  that  he  had  taken  service 
in  the  Mexican  army.  Three  years  had  rolled  away  w^ithoat 
bringing  him  any  nearer  the  goal  of  his  hopes.  Lapse  of  time 
and  the  constant  brooding  over  one  purpose,  had  deepened  and 
intensified  his  passion.  He  had  ceased  to  think  of  return- 
ing to  his  own  country  without  her,  and  he  only  cared 
for  the  country  of  his  adoption,  because  it  was  hers.  There 
were  depths  in  his  apparently  careless  and  easy  nature 
which  he  scarcely  sounded  himself ;  and  had  it  not  been  for  his 
innate  nobility  of  soul,  no  means,  however  violent,  would  have 
appeared  to  him  unwarrantable,  if  they  but  brought  him  nearer 
his  object.  Obstacles  to  him  there  were  none,  oven  as  it  was; 
and  his  buoyant,  hopeful  spirit  corrected  the  tendency  to  gloom. 
When  he  spurred  his  horse  away  from  Hugh,  notwithstanding 
the  restraint  he  had  put  upon  his  feelings,  his  thoughts  were 
far  from  amiable.  But  a  few  moments  reflection  satisfied  him 
of  the  folly  of  such  feelings ;  and  as  the  head  of  the  detachment 
reached  the  little  gtove  wVtVvm  -wVvich  lay  the  TancUj  he  cheer- 


TALBOT  AND  VEBNON.  326 


fully,  as  usual,  busied  himself  with  his  dispositions  for  the 
night. 

If  ever  place  deserved  the  name  of  oasis,  it  was  this.  Sur- 
rounded and  shaded  by  large  trees,  Jts  margin  skirted  by  the 
luxuriant  growth  of  all  moist  spots  in  that  clime,  and  standing 
midway  across  a  long,  hot  journey,  its  still,  crystal  waters  were 
surrounded  by  a  pleasant  atmosphere,  which  the  traveller  long 
remembered,  when  winding  his  way  amid  burning  sands  and 
stifling  sun-rays.  It  lay  like  a  well  beneath  the  surface  of  the 
ground,  and  the  shadows  of  the  trees  added  depth  tD  its  sides. 
Not  a  breath  ruffled  its  limpid  surface ;  and  far  down  in  its 
w^aters  were  reflected  the  trees  and  the  stars,  as  full  of  repose 
and  beauty  as  in  their  own  firmament.  A  young  moon  was 
near  the  horizon,  and  by  its  slanting  rays,  faint  and  dim,  could 
be  seen  the  level  plain  waving  away,  unbroken  by  hill  or  tree, 
until  lost  in  the  deep  shadows  of  the  mountain.  The  solitude 
-was  made  more  impressive  by  the  perfect  calmness  of  the  winds ; 
not  a  sigh  was  heard  upon  the  wide  plain.  The  moon,  too, 
hung  upon  tRe  horizon  in  a  lonely,  weird  way,  and  the  en- 
chantment which  always  attends  her  setting,  was  redoubled  by 
the  giant  forms,  among  which  she  seemed  to  be  going  to  re- 
pose. 

As  the  little  colunm  rode  up  to  the  tank,  each  lancer  left  his 
ranks,  and  unstringing  his  gourd  from  his  saddle  bow,  replen- 
ished it  before  he  led  his  horse  to  the  water.  Every  steed  was 
then  carefully  attended  to,  and  piquetted  upon  the  grass,  which 
grew  luxuriantly  for  several  rods  around.  A  light  supper, 
brought  by  the  detachment  from  Mifion*s  corps,  was  next  de- 
spatched almost  in  silence,  and  each  weary  trooper  wrapped  his 


826  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


blanket  round  him,  and  threw  himself  upon  the  ground  beside 
bis  horse's  lariat. 

Leaving  his  lieutenant  to  post  guards  in  several  directions  on 
the  plain,  the  colonel  wrapped  his  blanket  round  his  form,  and 
approached  his  prisoner,  who  was  still  in  charge  of  his  guard. 

"  If  you  will  give  me  your  parole,  senor"  he  commenced, 
**  not  to  attempt  to  escape  before  morning,  I  will  dismiss  these 
weary  men  to  sleep.** 

"  You  have  it,*'  said  Hugh,  without  hesitation.  "  I  am  too 
much  fatigued  to  ride  further  if  I  had  a  horse,  and  I  will  not 
deprive  you  of  yours  again." 

"  Leave  this  gentleman  with  me,  my  men,"  said  the  colonel, 
*'  and  make  yourselves  as  comfortable  as  possible.  Now,"  he 
added  to  Hugh,  when  his  men  gladly  availed  themselves  of  his 
permission,  "  if  you  will  walk  with  me,  our  tent  for  the  night 
shall  be  the  same." 

Hugh  took  his  serape,  withont  which  no  man  travels  in 
Mexico,  and  followed  him  to  the  foot  of  a  large  elm,  which 
towered  above  all  its  companions. 

**  There  is  no  dew  at  this  season,"  said  Melton,  **  and  if 
there  were,  this  tree  would  protect  us.  By  lying  close  toge- 
ther, we  will  be  able  to  resist  whatever  cold  the  night  may 
bring ;  our  blankets  are  large  enough  to  cover  two  at  least." 

Hugh  looked  at  him  doubtfully,  but  Melton  continued — 

**  You  must  not  suppose  I  distrust  you,  and  take  this  plan  of 
watching  you  ;  I  mean  no  more  than  I  say." 

"  It  was  not  that,"  said  Hugh,  "  but  I  was  surprised  that  you 
should  be  willing  to  lie  beside  one  whom  you  look  upon  as  a 
rival." 

**  How  know  you  I  view  you  thus  ?"  asked  the  other  sharply. 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  327 


«*  If  I  am  mistaken  you  can  undeceive  me,"  Hugh  quietly 
rejoiued. 

"  So  I  could,  if  you  were,"  said  the  other ;  "  but  we  will  not 
speak  of  that  now.  To-morrow  we  will  be  upon  more  fitting 
ground." 

"  Whither  are  we  bound,  then  ?"  asked  Manning. 

♦*  To  Rinconada,  first,"  answered  Melton,  "  and  afterwards 
to  Monterey,  if  possible." 

"  If  we  go  to  Monterey,"  said  Hugh,  smiling,  "  our  positions 
may  be  reversed." 

*'  That  is  as  Providence  shall  direct,"  said  the  other,  care- 
lessly. "  And  now  let  us  try  to  catch  a  little  rest,  for  we  must 
be  in  the  saddle  early.  But  first  let  me  examine  your  shoul- 
der." 

A  light  was  brought  and  the  wound  found  to  be  doing  well. 
Indeed,  it  had  not  been  severe  at  first,  the  ball  only  cutting  the 
fleshy  part  of  the  shoulder,  and  drawing  but  little  blood. 

"  By  the  bye,"  said  Melton,  when  he  had  with  his  own  hand 
re-arranged  the  bandages,  "  I  have  several  times  thought  of 
asking  your  name,  but  it  has  hitherto  slipped  my  memory. 

'*  It  is  Manning,"  said  Hugh. 

"  Manning  ?"  repeated  Melton ;  "  Catharina  Manning — would 
not  that  sound  well  ?" 

"  What  think  you  of  Catharina  Melton?"  said  Hugh,  smiling 
but  faintly. 

"  Neither  one  would  please  us  botf^  I  fear,"  said  the  other. 
**  But  this  is  not  a  fit  subject  for  jest — let  us  lie  down." 

The  men  were  already  slumbering  with  their  heads  near  the 
piquet-pins  of  their  lariats,  and  no  sound  broke  the  silence, 
except  the  horses  cropping  the  grass,  or  the  bieatViViig  qI  coicift 


328  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 

heavy  sleeper.  The  moon  had  gone  down  behind  the  moun- 
tain ;  and  though  in  that  quarter  the  craggy  outline  of  the 
sierra  was  more  distinctly  visible,  relieved  against  the  sky,  no 
ray  of  her  light  could  reach  the  plain.  Dusky  shadows  hung 
upon  the  level  surface,  and  seemed  to  flit  from  place  to  place ; 
and  to  the  eyeof  one  ignorant  of  these  plains,  the  darkness,  as 
it  closed  around  them,  would  have  seemed  a  countless  host  sur- 
rounding them.  The  quiet  breeze  which  always  rises  before 
midnight  on  the  plains,  began  to  rustle,  faint  and  low,  among 
the  leaves — and  distant,  wailing  voices  seemed  to  float  from 
towards  the  hills,  and  mingle  with  the  ghostly  wind.  The  stars 
looked  down  serenely  over  all,  and  the  quiet  waters  again  re- 
flected back  their  gem-like  rays. 

The  new-found  rivals  lay  beside  each  other,  wakeful  both ; 
but  neither  spoke,  for  each  supposed  the  other  sleeping,  and 
breathed  low  and  cautiously  for  fear  of  waking  him.  Fatigue, 
however,  gained  the  victory  at  length,  and  slumber  closed  the 
eyes  of  each.  Dreaming,  perhaps,  of  the  same  hope,  their  repose 
was  only  broken  by  the  long,  mellow  bugle-note  which  called 
them  back  from  fairy  land. 

Before  the  dawn  of  morning  they  were  again  upon  the  plain, 
and  ere  the  evening  closed  they  were  climbing  up  a  mountain 
defile  which  led  to  "  Rinconada.'' 


CHAPTE.R    X. 

^  Yet  he  was  jealous,  though  he  did  not  show  it.''— Braoic. 

'^  For  leldom  yet  did  living  creature  see   . 
That  courtesie  and  manhood  ever  disagree." — Faerie  Quexnb» 

"  No  daintie  flowre  or  herbe  that  growes  on  ground, 
No  arborett  with  painted  blosson^s  drest, 
And  smiling  sweete,  but  there  it  might  be  found."— Idem. 

**  Many  a  scene  that  looks  desert  and  rock-bound  from  the  distance,  will  unfold  itself^ 
when  visited,  into  rare  valleys." — Carltle. 

The  plain  terminated  suddenly  under  the  points  of  the  moun- 
tain spurs.  From  these,  by  a  gentle  ascent,  extended  a  rough 
plateau  of  a  mile  in  width,  and  beyond,  abruptly  rose  the 
craggy  peaks  of  the  sierra.  Two  of  these  had  been  crushed 
together  at  the  base,  as  if  for  want  of  room,  and  the  notch  thus 
formed  was  used  as  a  passage  over  the  lofty  range.  From  the 
base  of  each  of  these  hills,  extended  a  separate  ridge,  forming 
part  of  the  great  plateau ;  and  between  them  was  a  deep  ra- 
vine, sloping  and  widening  as  it  approached  the  plain,  until,  at 
the  main  level,  it  presented  an  opening  of  two  or  three  hun- 
dred yards  in  width.  In  the  wet  season,  this  was  the  channel 
through  which  an  immense  body  of  water  found  its  way  to  the 
many  little  rivers  and  arroyos  of  the  plain ;  but  it  was  dry, 
now,  and  its  bed  was  covered  by  light,  yellow  sand,  and  fine 
gravel,  presenting  a  smooth  and  practicable  road  to  the  summit 
of  the  pass.  A  turn  in  the  ravine,  some  four  hundred  yards 
from  its  mouth,  shut  out  the  view  from  the  plain,  and  xYv^  ^et« 


330  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


pendicular  and  often  overhanging  sides  of  the  way  prevented 
any  prospect  in  all  directions,  except  forward — where  only  the 
broken  sides  and  pine-covered  summits  of  the  sierra  were  visi- 
ble. The  hoofs  of  the  horses  made  no  sound  in  the  soft  sand, 
and  the  troop  rode  along  without  noise,  except  the  jingling  of 
sabres  and  spurs.  Melton  rode  beside  his  prisoner  in  the  ad- 
vance, and  seemed  absorbed  in  thought.  Hugh  was  full  of  his 
own  reflections— of  no  pleasant  sort,  we  may  suppose,  and  felt 
little  inclined  to  conversation.  Nor  were  his  fancies  far  from 
the  truth  ;  for  at  that  very  moment,  the  battle,  In  the  thickest 
of  which  he  wished  to  be,  was  about  drawing  to  a  close.  It 
was  near  sunset ;  and  from  the  shaded  bed  of  the  barranca  he 
could  see  the  yellow  sunbeams  gilding  the  rocks  above,  stream- 
ing through  the  foliage  of  the  pines,  and  enameling  the  craggy 
summits  of  the  sierra, 

"If,"  said  Melton,  breaking  silence  at  last,  as  they  ap- 
proached the  more  precipitous  ascent,  "  if  these  mountains  on 
our  left  were  out  of  the  way,  we  could  see  the  fair  city  of  Mon- 
terey, for  it  is  scarcely  four  leagues  from  us." 

"  You  seem  to  be  well  acquainted  with  the  country,"  said 
Hugh.     "  Are  we  near  to  Rinconada?" 

*'  It  lies  just  beyond  this  ridge,  scarcely  two  miles  from  us." 

"  And  is  this  the  only  approach  to  it  ?" 

"  By  no  means ;  on  the  north  the  little  valley  in  which  it 
stands  slopes  gradually  down  towards  the  sources  of  the  San 
Juan,  and  a  very  good  road  leads  out  upon  the  plain.  You  will 
soon  see  it,  however  ;  from  the  point  above  us  yonder  there  is 
a  view  equal  to  any,  except  perhaps  one,  in  Mexico." 

^*  Where  is  the  exception?"  asked  Hugh. 


\ 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  331 


"  The  first  view  of  the  valley  of  Mexico,  from  the  Vera  Cruz 
road." 

The  conversation  was  interrupted  by  the  necessity  of  dis- 
mounting to  lead  their  horses  up  the  difficult  pass,  obstructed  aff 
it  was  by  large  stones,  and  cut  up  by  the  floods  of  the  rainy 
season.  Half  an  hour's  cautious  labor,  however,  surmounted 
the  difficulty,  and  brought  them  to  a  small  level  space,  from 
"which  they  commanded  a  view  which  fully  justified  the  high 
praise  of  the  colonel. 

A  valley  about  two  leagues  in  circumference,  set,  like  an 
emerald,  in  the  granite  mountains,  lay  sleeping  before  them ; 
w^hile  over  its  repose,  like  sentinel  watchers,  stood  some  of  the 
loftiest  peaks  of  the  Sierra  Madre.  From  the  point  where 
they  stood  no  outlet  was  visible — locked  among  the  hills,  it 
seemed  like  one  of  those  enchanted  valleys  of  Oriental  romance, 
w^here  only  the  presiding  genii  and  favored  mortals  are  allowed 
to  enter.  The  mountains  sloped  gracefully  down,  covered  with 
green,  luxuriant  sward,  or  terminated  suddenly  in  moss-hung 
and  pine-shaded  precipices  ;  and,  bounding  down,  between  the 
waving  ridges,  glistened  many  a  sparkling  rivulet.  On  the  level 
of  the  valley  the  waters  were  collected  in  winding  aqueducts, 
whose  sides  were  fringed  with  verdure,  the  long  blades  of  which 
were  laved  by  the  currents,  as  they  hung  gracefully  over  the 
banks.  Trained  all  around  the  basin,  intersecting  it  in  every 
direction,  all  these  aqueducts  were  at  last  conducted  to  a  large 
canal,  that  flowed  through  the  entire  length  of  the  valley  and 
wound  away  to  the  north.  About  midway  between  the  moun- 
tains a  little  lake  was  formed,  and  in  the  centre  stood  an  island, 
on  which  were  growing  all  the  varieties  of  tropical  trees  and 
plants.     In  every  direction  groves  and  double  rows  "wei^  ^to^- 


3a2  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


ing,  of  orange,  fig  and  plantain  trees  ;  and,  dividing  the  grounds 
into  small  allotments,  numerous  hedges  ran  along  the  aqueducts 
or  passed  from  one  to  another.  Among  these  groves  and 
hedges  stood  more  than  twenty  ranchas,  each  surrounded  by  its 
own  little  garden,  and  each  shaded  by  its  own  grove. 

On  the  border  of  the  lake,  and  apparently  almost  beneath  their 
feet,  were  the  grounds  around  the  residence  of  the  proprietor. 
Fronting  on  the  margin  of  the  lake,  and  covering  a  large  space, 
was  a  house  built  of  stone  in  the  peculiar  style  of  architecture 
common  in  that  country.  Surrounded,  except  in  front,  by  a 
high  stone  wall,  enclosing  the  court-yards,  and  pierced  by  as 
many  wide  gates,  it  seemed  to  cover  quite  an  acre  of  ground. 
Like  almost  all  the  houses  of  that  country,  it  was  only  one  story 
high ;  but  its  immense  extent  and  the  convenient  arrangement 
of  its  parts,  gave  it  an  appearance  of  grandeur  seldom  attached 
to  anything  so  low.  Its  massive  materials,  too,  the  accuracy 
of  the  mason- work,  and  the  perfect  proportion  of  the  parts,  in- 
dicated taste  and  skill,  far  above  that  usually  seen  in  New 
Leon.  "Wide  corridors,  surrounding  it  on  every  side  but  one, 
rested  on  square  columns  hewn  from  the  native  granite ;  and 
round  the  flat  roof  was  built  a  parapet,  on  which  were  growing 
many  flowers  and  creeping  vines. 

Around  the  house  were  laid  out  grounds  of  great  extent ;  and 
every  tree  and  shrub  and  flower  which  that  genial  clime  produces 
were  cast  with  prodigal  profusion  and  singular  elegance  upon 
the  teeming  soil.  Among  them,  towering  and  majestic,  were 
also  found  trees  of  a  hardier  growth  ;  and  oaks  and  elms,  and 
even  poplars,  stood  at  every  corner,  and  overhung  each  tangled 
bed.  Twining  around  the  trunks  of  these,  and  covering  grace- 
fully  their  northerni  iug^ediaftss,\v\m«  N\xks&^\A^«?^x»&ites;  or 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  333 


sweeping  in  long  festoons  almost  to  the  ground,  masses  of  gray 
moss  bent  every  limb.  In  all  directions,  among  these  groves 
and  flower  beds  were  wandering  sanded-walks,  and  along  their 
edges  small  canals  were  led,  above  whose  sparkling  waters 
hung  matted  flowers  and  creeping  plants.  Surrounding  all,  and 
forming  a  rich  border  to  this  garden-piece,  ran  double  rows  of 
China-trees,  and  at  their  feet  were  planted  hedges,  whose  many 
colors  blended  with  the  deep,  luxuriant  green  above  them. 
Upon  the  margin  of  the  lake  were  tied  several  small  boats,  and 
one,  covered  with  a  green  canopy,  lay  moored  beneath  the  trees 
upon  the  island-shore.  Over  all  hung  the  very  spirit  of  repose  ; 
as  if  no  blast  of  war  had  ever  blown  upon  the  scene.  The 
shadows  of  the  mountain  stretched  across  the  valley ;  but  the 
level  sunbeams  were  pouring  in  rich  profusion  of  yellow 
radiance  upon  the  opposite  slopes  and  precipices ;  and  reflected 
light  hung  like  a  gcHden  mist  above  the  fairy  scene. 

Melton  and  his  prisoner  gazed  long  and  silently  upon  this 
mountain  paradise.  The  sun  approached  the  western  hills  and 
left  the  valley  wrapped  in  deeper  shadows ;  ascending  the  slopes 
and  precipices  of  the  opposite  ridge,  and  bathing  in  a  mellower 
light  the  crags  and  pines  upon  its  summit ;  but  still  the  silence 
was  unbroken.  Each  felt,  perhaps,  that  within  the  little  vale 
before  him,  was  soon  to  be  decided  the  fate  of  a  cherished  hope ; 
and  each  gazed  with  an  interested  eye  upon  every  feature  of  the 
qniet  landscape. 

Without  addressing  Hugh,  the  colonel  at  last  turned  to  his 
men  and  made  a  signal  to  remount.  Beckoning  Manning  to 
his  side,  he  rode  in  front  as  before,  and  led  the  cavalcade  slowly 
down  the  easy  slope,  directly  towards  the  mansion.  But,  when 
they  gained  the  level  of  the  valley,  he  turned  stvaipV'^  \.o  >Ofta 


334  TALBOT  AND  VBRNON. 


right,  and  rode  along  the  margin  of  the  canal  beneath  the  cover 
of  a  row  of  elms.  Half  an  hour's  ride  brought  them  to  the 
southern  end  of  the  valley,  and,  without  speaking,  the  com- 
mander halted  and  made  a  sign  to  his  lieutenant.  The  latter 
led  them  on,  and  turning  round  the  corner  of  a  grove,  halted 
and  prepared  to  bivouac. 

**  My  own  destination  for  the  night,''  said  the  colonel,  speak- 
ing for  the  first  time,  since  they  reached  the  summit  of  the 
pass,  **  is  the  Hacienda ;  and  wounded  as  you  are,  probably 
you  had  better  be  there  also.  If  you  will  now  give  me  your 
parol,  I  will  put  no  restraint  upon  you." 

«*To  what  extent  do  you  wish  it?"  asked  Hugh.    ' 
"  Not  to  leave  the  grounds  about  the  hou^e  for  seven  days." 
"  With  one  proviso  T  will  give  it,"  answered  Manning,  "  in 
case  of  rescue  or  retreat  I  shall  be  released." 
"  Very  well,"  said  Melton,  "  let  us  go  at  gnce." 
Giving  Sanchez  directions  for  the  night,  and  taking  ten  men 
with  him,  he  turned  his  horse's  head  into  a  narrow  avenue,  and 
by  a  much  shorter  route  than  that  by  which  they  had  come,  led 
the  way  towards  the  mansion  of  "  Rinconada."     They  passed 
by  the  doors  of  several  ranchas,  around  which  reigned  a  taste- 
ful elegance,  but  seldom  found  among  the  rancheras.     Women 
•  and  men,  with  numerous  children,  gazed  on  the  rare  sight,  as 
it  passed,  of   armed  men  within  the   peaceful  valley.     The 
cattle  grazed  in  quiet  on  the   sward,  and  numerous   flocks  of 
goats  were  penned  within  their  picket   yards.     Sweet  voices, 
carolling  the  ballads  so  popular  in  Mexico,  were  mingling  with 
the   rural  sounds  of  lowing  herds  and  tinkling  bells.     Every 
few  rods  they  met  or  passed  some  merry  boy,  mounted  on  one 
of  the  patient  hurofi  oi  tVie  <iowxvV.rj  \  ^ud  once  they  passed  a 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  335 


« 


youthful  mother,  with  flowing  raven  hair  and  jet-black  eyes, 
playfully  holding  a  child  upon  the  ass's  back.  The  child  clapped 
its  hands  in  glee,  and  the  mother's  eyes  sparkled  with  joy, 
while  the  patient  animal  walked  docilely  and  cautiously  along, 
as  if  afraid  of  throwing  off  its  scarce-felt  burden.  The  jingling' 
of  the  horsemen's  sabres  attracted  their  attention,  and  the 
woman  looked  suddenly  and  timidly  around,  the  child  was 
silent  and  alarmed,  and  the  buro  stepped  instinctively  aside. 

"  You  have  not  been  accustomed  to  the  sight  of  armed  men, 
Marina,  in  the  valley,"  said  Melton  kindly. 

"  Oh  !  I  am  not  afraid,  now  that  I  see  you,  Seilor  Melton/* 
said  the  woman  quickly ;  **  though  these  are  the  first  armed 
men  I  ever  saw  a^Rinconada." 

"  I  hope  you  may  never  see  another,"  said  the  colonel ; 
these  are  times  when  such  an  apparition  seldom  brings  good 
fortune." 

**  We  are  not  afraid  of  any  ill  treatment  at  your  hands,"  said 
she  with  a  smile,  <<  unless  you  should  get  into  a  passion  on  hear- 
ing that  Sefiora  Catharina  is  not  here." 

"  I  know  that  already,"  said  he,  turning  with  a  smile  to 
Hugh,  to  see  what  effect  this  cordial  recognition  would  have 
on  him. 

"The  outworks  may  be  taken,"  said  the  latter  almost  angrily, 
replying  to  the  look,  **  and  yet  the  citadel  be  never  won." 

«•  True,"  said  the  colonel  flushing  scarlet,  "  and  the  citadel 
may  be  taken  by  force  or  fraud,  without  attending  to  the  out- 
works ;  but  such  possession  is  apt  to  be  of  short  duration." 

"  The  parallel  will  not  hold,"  said  Hugh  coldly,  and  Melton 
turned  with  a  haughty  look  to  the  woman  again. 

"  Is  the  Seiiora  Capella  here  ?"  he  asked. 


336  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 

"OI  yes,"  the   woman  answered;  "you  know  she  never 
leaves  the  valley.*' 

"  And  Miguel,  where  is  he?" 

''  Yonder — he  is  coming." 

"  A  tall  slight  man,  with  a  rather  lighter  complexion  than 
most  of  his  countrymen,  approached,  and  at  once  recognised  the 
colonel ;  cordially  shaking  hands  with  him,  and,  after  the  man- 
ner of  his  race  making  many  professions  of  friendship,  all  of 
which  Melton  coolly  received  without  reply. 

"  Is  that  your  only  child  ?"  he  asked  pointing  to  the  boy, 
who  still  sat  silent  and  rebuked  upon  the  burets  back. 

"  Si,  SenoTf*  said  Miguel,  "  the  only  one  ; —  I  want  to  make 
a  soldier  of  him,  if  the  war  should  last."       , 

'*  Will  Marina  consent  to  that  ?"  asked  Melton. 

"  No,  indeed  !"  exclaimed  the  mother  ;  but  she  stopped  and 
hung  her  head,  as  the  cold,  hard  eye  of  her  husband  rested  on 
her. 

•*  Well,  well,"  said  the  colonel  impatiently,  for  like  every 
man  of  honor  he  was  disgusted  by  the  sight  of  tyranny,  *<  run 
across  the  enclosure,  Miguel,  and  announce  our  coming,  while 
we  go  round  by  the  lake." 

The  obsequious  Mexican  sprang  across  a  canal  and  soon  dis- 
appeared among  the  trees.  Melton  lingered  a  moment  to 
speak  a  few  words  in  a  low  tone  to  Marina  ;  and  as  he  rode  oflf 
she  gazed  smilingly  after  him  till  he  disappeared. 

*'  This  Miguel,"  said  the  colonel  in  his  natural  good-hu- 
mored manner,  "  is  the  steward  of  the  estate,  and  like  most 
stewards  is  a  great  knave.    Marina  is  Catharina*s  foster-sister." 

"  That  accounts  for  your  interest  in  her,"  said  Hugh,  smiJ- 


ing. 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  337 


«*  And  would  have  produced  the  same  in  you,  had  you  known 
it  sooner/'  said  the  other. 

There  seemed  to  be  in  each  of  these  men's  breasts,  frank  and 
generous  as  they  both  were,  an  unconquerable  proclivity  to 
recur  to  one  unpleasant  subject  at  every  turn ;  and  probably 
nothing  but  their  temporary  relation  prevented  their  breaking 
out  into  open  hostility.  It  was,  however,  not  in  the  nature  of 
either  of  them  to  entertain,  much  less  suppress,  a  feeling  of 
envy  or  malice.  Hugh  was  made  more  splenetic  by  the  mis- 
fortune  of  his  captivity;  and  Melton  was,  perhaps,  less  good- 
natured  than  he  would  have  been,  had  he  not  felt  constrained 
to  treat  his  prisoner  with  respect. 

*'  I  think,  *'  said  the  latter,  after  a  pause,  **  that  we  had  better 
avoid  that  subject,  at  least  while  we  have  no  visible  cause  of 
quarrel,  and  speak  of  other  things." 

"  With  all  my  heart,"  said  Hugh.  "  1  certainly  have  no 
cause  of  quarrel  with  you  now,  and  hope  I  never  may  have." 

As  he  spoke,  they  emerged  from  the  gathering  shadows  of  a 
row  of  China  trees,  and  rode  up  to  a  wide  gate  in  the  wall, 
w^hich  was  swung  open  as  they  approached,  by  the  officious 
Miguel.  Melton  rode  without  ceremony  into  the  court-yard, 
and  dismounting,  cast  the  rein  to  one  of  the  lancers,  and  signed 
to  Hugh  to  follow  him.  He  turned  to  the  right  and  entered  a 
wide  door.  Here  he  was  n^t  by  a  stately  woman,  some  forty 
years  of  age,  whose  hair  was  slightly  grizzled,  but  whose  large 
black  eye  still  sparkled  with  all  the  fire  of  youth.  Melton  took 
her  hand,  and  saluted  her  upon  both  cheeks ;  he  then  introduc- 
ed his  prisoner  as  a  friend  of  Catharina,  and  they  both  followed 
her  erect  and  lofty  steps  into  a  large  and  richly-furnished  draw- 
ing-room.    There  is  no  country  iu  the  civilized  wot\Oi^  eo\^VTJ\v\«! 

16 


338  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


ing  fewer  of  the  superfluous  elegancies  of  life,  than  Northern 
Mexico ;  and  probably,  north  of  San  Luis,  not  one  hundred 
houses  can  be  found  containing  each  a  square  yard  of  carpet- 
ing, or  a  single  curtained  window.  But  Bonaro's  long  residence 
in  the  United  States  had  given  him  a  taste  for  these  things,  while 
his  great  wealth  enabled  him  to  command  them  even  here.  His 
house  was  accordingly  richly  carpeted  in  almost  every  room, 
and  the  halls  were  covered  with  the  matting  of  the  country. 
Every  window  was  glazed  and  curtained ;  while  chairs  and 
ottomans  and  sofas  all.  denoted  tastes  acquired  in  a  foreign 
country.  The  room  into  which  Melton  and  Hugh  were  shown, 
was  tapestried  with  the  same  white  and  red  material,  which 
gave  so  inimitable  an  air  of  neatness  and  comfort  to  the  cottage 
in  the  mountains ;  and  between  the  windows,  looking  out 
upon  the  lake,  hung  several  crucifixes  and  rosaries.  Many 
paintings  of  Scripture  subjects  hung  upon  the  walls ;  and  an 
unfinished  portrait  of  Catharina,  unmistakeable  in  its  lineaments, 
though  roughly  sketched,  sat  on  a  table  in  the  corner.  The 
ceiling  was  painted,  though  not  skilfully,  in  imitation  of  a  leafy 
canopy,  and  from  the  centre  hung  a  silver  chandelier.  Against 
the  side  on  which  they  entered,  stood  a  plain  guitar  and  a 
richly-mounted  bandaloon ;  and  as  Melton  took  up  the  former 
and  touched  it  with  no  unskilful  hand,  its  soft,  romantic  notes 
blended  with  the  harmony  of  the  closing  evening  and  the  peace- 
ful scene. 

Their  hostess,  (the  Sefiora  Capella,  for  whom  Melton  had 
inquired  of  Marina,)  after  a  few  questions  about  her  neioe,  left 
them,  to  order  some  refreshment ;  and  the  colonel  took  advan- 
tage of  her  absence  to  acquaint  Hugh  with  her  history.  She 
was  the  only  sister  of  Bonaro,  and  had  been  widowed  many 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  339 


years.  Her  husband,  a  partizan  chief,  had  fallen  in  one  of  the 
feuds  of  the  centralists  and  federalists  ;  and  since  that  time  she 
had  never  left  the  valley.  Devoting  herself  to  her  brother,  she 
had  relieved  him  of  most  of  the  c'are  of  his  household,  and 
assisted  him  in  the  education  of  his  daughter.  She  was,  how- 
ever, but  little  liked  by  those  who  knew  her,  probably  on 
account  of  the  haughtiness  of  her  spirit,  and  the  uncompro- 
mising hatred  she  bore  to  every  one  who  had  been  connected 
with  the  party  opposed  to  her  husband's.  She  was,  at  heart, 
however,  kind  and  generous.  Melton  said ;  and  interested  her- 
self in  the  fortunes  of  her  neice  quite  as  warmly  as  she  would 
have  done  in  those  of  a  daughter. 

"  I  hope  she  has  none  of  the  match-maker  in  her  compo- 
sition," said  Hugh,  quietly. 

"  If  you  were  sure  of  her  interest  in  your  own  favor,"  re- 
torted Melton,  "  I  suspect  you  would  not  find  that  an  objec- 
tion." 

"  Perhaps  not,"  said  Hugh.  "  But  let  me  hear  more  about 
her  ;  we  agreed  not  to  touch  this  subject  again." 

**  I  was  not  the  first  to  allude  to  it,  seiior,"  said  Milton. 

**  I  plead  guilty,"  said  Hugh,  good-humoredly,  "  and  will  try 
to  avoid  ofi*ence  again." 

"  Oh !  no  offence  to  me,  if  you  wish  to  open  the  discussion," 
said  Melton,  haughtily. 

"  But  I  do  not  wish  it,"  said  Hugh,  gravely ;  "  and,  besides, 
I  hope  you  will  either  release  me  or  remember  I  am  your 
prisoner." 

"  True — ^I  was  wrong — forgive  me,"  said  the  colonel,  frank- 
ly, extending  his  hand.  Hugh  took  it,  and  the  blaze  waa 
amotheTed  again^ 


340  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


"  If  there  were  anything  more  to  tell,"  said  Melton,  "  1 
would  continue  the  story ;  but  there  is  not  She  remains  here 
during  Bonaro's  absence,  and  manages  the  estate  far  better,  I 
am  told,  than  Bonaro  himself ;  at  any  rate,  I  am  sure  that  under 
her  administration  the  revenues  are  doubled,  at  least." 

'^  Then  her  management  is  for  the  interest  of  the  landlord 
and  not  of  the  tenant,"  said  Hugh. 

"  For  the  immediate  interest  of  the  former/'  replied  the  col- 
onel, "  and  for  the  ultimate  interests  of  both.  Absenteeism  is 
the  curse  of  this  country,  as  of  many  others.  Had  each  great 
proprietor  some  just  and  vigilant  representative  on  his  estates; 
who  would  establish  and  enforce  a  rigid  but  merciful  system, 
idleness  and  decay,  which  are  now  ruining  some  of  the  finest 
estates  in  the  world,  .would  disappear  from  the  land.  Most  of 
the  men  who  own  the  land  in  this  region,  are  really  residents 
of  Mexico,  ( the  city,)  and  pay  scarcely  more  than  one  flying 
visit  to  New  Leon  in  twelve  months.  When  they  do  come,  if 
a  respectable  amount  of  rents  can  be  immediately  raised,  they 
give  no  attention  to  the  state  of  their  property  or  the  condition 
of  their  tenants.  This  amount  is  generally  raised  by  the  alarm- 
ed stewards,  (who  have  been  wasting  the  substance  of  their 
masters  ever  since  his  last  visit,)  by  rapacious  and  cruel  extor- 
tions, hasty  expedients  and  questionable  modes  of  collection, 
often  amounting  to  nothing  less  than  sheer  robbery.  The  class 
of  stewards  is  generally  filled  by  men  broken  down  in  other 
pursuits,  whose  own  failures,  or  perhaps  the  faults  which 
caused  those  failures,  have  made  them  callous  and  inaccessible 
to  every  consideration  of  honor  or  humanity.  In  the  place  of 
these  principles  of  action,  they  are  too  often  actuated  by  the 
the  vilest  passions  to  which  our  nature  is  liable.     Rapacious 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  341 


avarice  and  degrading  licentiousness,  always  found  together  in 
one  degree  of  relation  or  another,  in  this  class  are  equally  and 
alternately  predominant.  Wielding  the  power  of  a  great  pro- 
prietor, they  are  far  more  formidable  than  the  proprietor  him- 
self;  for  they  are  not  restrained  by  any  consideration  which 
would  curb  his  passions  if  he  have  them.  The  wives  and 
daughters  of  the  tenants  often  purchase,  by  their  own  degra- 
dation exemption  from  extortion  for  their  fathers  and  husbands ; 
and  to  avoid  persecution  which  might  go  the  length  of  starva- 
tion, the  husbands  and  fathers  are  forced  to  connive  at  the  out- 
rage.  Instances  arc  innumerable  in  this  unhappy  country, 
"where  large  estates  are  thus  made  mere  instruments  of  oppres- 
sion or  debauchery ,  thousands  of  men,  who  have  refused  to 
submit,  have  been  driven  by  violence  from  their  homes,  and 
their  places  filled  by  others  more  compliant ;  and  in  many  ca- 
ses, 1  have  known  the  men  thus  driven  forth  with  their  fami- 
lies, to  be  forced  back  by  the  pinchings  of  poverty  and  famine 
unconditionally  to  surrender  all  their  domestic  rights  to  some 
monster  of  a  steward.  The  frequency  of  these  occurrences  has 
made  them  almost  a  matter  of  course,  wherever  the  owner  is 
an  absentee ;  and  nothing  is  more  common  than  to  hear  a  dis- 
tinction drawn  between  unfortunate  women,  victims  of  these 
men,  and  others,  ec^ually  unfortunate,  victims  of  others  or  of 
their  own  folly.  I  have  known  men  sit  quietly  on  their  own 
door  sills,  waiting  till  the  dreaded  steward  should  allow  them 
to  enter ;  I  have  known  fathers  voluntarily  turn  aside,  to  avoid 
seeing  the  prostitution  of  their  daughters ;  I  have  seen  a  steward 
take  the  last  ear  of  corn,  the  last  pound  of  meat,  the  only  goat, 
and  the  last  article  of  household  furniture,  from  a  poverty- 
stricken  tenant,  and  then  return  them  on  condition  t\i^\»  X\i%X 


842  TALBOT  AND  YEBNON. 

tenant's  daughter  should  go  instead  of  them ;  the  daughter  ^ 
went  and  never  returned ;  she  may  he  found  now  in  the  low- 
browed, dingy  houses  of  the  southern  suburb  of  Monterey. 
Worse  than  all  this,  I  have  seen  merriment  and  feasting  over 
the  sale  of  such  a  daughter,  or  the  degradation  of  a  wife  ;  and 
I  have  seen  the  rancheras  of  the  neighborhood  accustomed  to 
such  things,  and  either  intimidated  by  fear,  rendered  callous  by 
familiarity,  or  induced  by  the  hope  of  advantage  from  the  like 
distinction,  join  in  the  mirth,  while  the  soulless  steward  and 
his  brazen  paramour,  sat  at  the  head  of  the  room  in  dalliance, 
or  amid  many  *  bravas^  led  off  the  dance ! 

**  All  these  things  I  have  seen  without  the  power  to  prevent 
them — nay,  too  much  disgusted  to  attempt  it,  if  I  had.  It  is 
impossible,  of  course,  where  such  things  are  done  and  known, 
that  demoralization  should  not  be  universal  ;  that  slavery  in  its 
worst  and  most  degrading  forms,  should  not  triumph  over  every 
principle  of  manliness  and  humanity.  Small  debts  incurred  for 
rent,  or  for  some  one  of  the  thousand  iniquitous  items  of  a  steward's 
account,  consign  the  debtor  and  his  family  to  a  slavery,  a  mil- 
lion times  more  degrading,  than  the  negro  slavery  of  our 
Southern  States.  Whole  families  are  taken,  to  work  out  paltry 
debts ;  the  creditor  assumes  the  responsibility  of  feeding  and 
clothing  them  for  their  labor  ;  for  every  article  furnished  them, 
of  either  food  or  clothing,  he  charges  what  he  pleases,  and  for 
every  item  of  work  he  credits  them  according  to  his  own  good 
will  and  pleasure.  The  consequence  is,  that  after  years  of 
slavery  and  intolerable  oppression,  the  liability  is  larger  than  it 
was  at  first ;  the  family,  old  and  young,  male  and  female,  are 
laboring  to  pay  their  father's  debt — a  debt  which  accumulates 
much  faster  than  their  wages.     I  have  known   instances  of 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  343 


\«rlioIe  families  kept  in  slavery  like  this,  for  many  years,  and 
never  released,  where  the  original  debt  did  not  exceed  the 
paltry  sum  of  ten  dollars !" 

"  But,"  said  Hugh,  "  you  do  not  attribute  all  these  things  to 
the  one  cause  of  absenteeism  V* 

**  No — not  all ;  for  in  many  cases  the  owners  themselves 
have  filled  their  estates  in  the  same  way.  But  what  I  mean  is 
this — if  liberal,  enlightened,  and  just  proprietors  would  live  on 
their  own  estates — or  if  they  were  represented  by  men  of  the 
3ame  character — most  of  these  things  would  never  have  been  ; 
and  even  the  remainder,  attributable  as  they  are  to  the  unfortu- 
nate and  degrading  mixture  of  Spanish  and  Indian  blood,  would 
long  since  have  been  ameliorated,  if  not  entirely  corrected." 

^  I  have  seen  but  little  of  the  domestic  peculiarities  of  these 
people,"  said  Hugh;  "  but  what  1  have  seen,  has  led  me  to 
the  conclusion,  that  the  priests  have  had  no  unimportant  in- 
fluence in  the  production  of  this  state  of  things." 

"  You  are  partly  right  and  partly  wrong.  The  priests  have 
accelerated  the  movement ;  but  we  must  acquit  them  of  the 
charge  of  having  first  commenced  it.  It  is  generally  supposed 
that  corruption  proceeds  from  the  higher  places  to  the  lower, 
but  in  this  country  it  has  worked  upward.  Many  causes  com- 
bined to  make  the  Mexican  populace  what  they  are,  long  before 
the  higher  classes  had  descended  from  the  prou4  distinction  of 
the  Spanish  hidalgos.  Ignorance,  superstition,  and  prostitution 
became  the  three  leading  characteristics  of  the  people ;  the 
priests  followed  as  'in  later  generations  they  have  always 
followed,  instead  of  leading,  the  prevailing  tone  of  society. 
Vows  of  celibacy  and  poverty,  were  never  made  to  be  kept, 
at  any  rate  ;  and  a  tone  0/  public  sentimeot,  (if  suqYi  ^  \^i\li^ 


344  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 

exists  in  Mexico,)  which  does  not  reprobate  the  last  of  these 
three  characteristics,  and  smiles  upon  rapacity  and  extortion, 
must  either  ruin  the  priesthood  by  bringing  it  down  to  the 
general  level,  or  get  rid  of  it  by  revolution  or  expulsion.  In 
this  case,  it  brought  it  down  to  the  general  level ;  and,  as 
human  nature,  leaving  one  extreme,  seldom  stops  short  of  the 
opposite,  the  sacerdotal  class  in  this  country  are,  as  a  class^ 
more  degraded  thaa  even  the  tenants  of  the  absentees,  for  they 
add  to  their  other  vices  that  worst  of  all,  the  vice  of  hypocrisy.*' 

<*  You  seem  to  have  examined  this  subject,*'  said  Hugh. 
"  Have  you  ever  thought  of  a  remedy  for  these  social  evils  ?" 

**  Yes ;  war,  pestilence  and  famine,  all  combined,  might 
partially  remedy  it,  provided  the  war  were  vigorous  and  un- 
relenting, the  pestilence  universal  and  searching,  and  the  famine 
pinching,  unrelieved  and  of  long  duration.'' 

"  They  would  produce  revolution  and  anarchy,  even  in 
Mexico." 

"  And  a  revolution  which  shall  overturn  the  government 
completely,  tear  it  up  by  the  roots  and  fling  it  to  the  winds — 
which  shall  mingle  all  the  elements  of  society  in  confusion,  and 
drench  the  country  in  blood— is  the  only  remedy  now  left." 

"  What  think  you  of  annexation  to  our  Union,  and  a  gradual 
leavening  of  the  loaf  with  Anglo-Saxon  blood  ?" 

Before  Melton  had  time  to  answer,  the  Sefiora  reappeared, 
and  in  a  few  moments  the  hungry  men  were  seated  to  a  sub- 
stantial repast.  This  over,  they  were  shown  their  rooms,  and 
Hugh,  overcome  by  fatigue  and  wakefulness,  at  once  betook 
himself  to  rest.  Melton  remained  a  few  minutes  in  the  drawing- 
room,  and  held  a  conversation  with  the  Sefiora,  which,  if  we 
were  to  repeat  it,  would  show  that,  to  use  Hugh's  illustratioD, 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  345 


he  had  not  neglected  '*  the  outworks''  on  this  side  of  the  citadel 
either — she  too  was  warmly  in  his  interest.  We  will  not  re- 
peat their  conversation,  however ;  and,  leaving  Melton  to 
consult  with  her  unmolested,  we  must  pass  over  the  night  and 
its  events,  and  hasten  on. 


CHAPTER    XI. 

"  Absence  with  all  its  pains 
If  by  this  charming  moment  wiped  away.'* — Thomson. 

'^  Away  to  heaven,  respective  lenity, 
And  fire-eyed  fury  be  my  conduct  now."— Romeo  and  Jvlikt. 

"  His  soul,  like  bark  with  rudder  lost, 
On  passion's  changeful  tide  was  tost."— Rokebt. 

The  first  care  of  the  colonel  on  the  morrow  was  to  send 
detachments  to  several  points,  both  east  and  west  of  Monterey, 
to  ascertain  the  positions  of  the  generals,  with  whom  he  was 
ordered  to  co-operate.  He  retained  in  the  valley  only  about  one 
hundred  men,  and  having  so  disposed  these  as  to  guard  against 
surprise,  he  returned  to  Kinconada  and  prepared  to  await  fur- 
ther orders.  He  allowed  Hugh  to  range  freely  within  prescribed 
limits ;  and  the  latter  availed  himself  of  his  liberty,  to  explore 
and  examine  the  various  beauties  of  this  enchanted  vale. 
Frequent  walks  among  the  avenues  and  groves,  or  occasional 
excursions  to  the  island  in  the  lake,  alternated  with  long  hours 
of  meditation  under  the  deep  green  foliage  of  tropical  trees,  or 
among  flower-beds  and  trellised  vines.  These  amusements  were 
common  to  both  Melton  and  his  prisoner,  but  they  were  not 
partaken  together.  Each  occupied  with  his  own  thoughts  and 
feelings,  was  guided  by  his  own  caprices  ;  and  if  ever  they  met 
or  happened  to  go  in  the  same  direction,  their  compauioQship 
was   of  but  brief  duration.     They  avoided  each  other — not^ 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  347 

jperhaps,  from  any  feeling  of  actual  hostility,  but  from  a  con- 
sciousness, possessed  by  each,  that  their  opposite  interests  ne- 
cessarily precluded  common  sympathies  ;  or  from  an  anticipation 
often  reluctantly  entertained  by  such  men,  that  their  intercourse 
must  ultimately  come  to  strife.  We  sometimes  feel  irresistibly 
impelled  to  quarre]  with  those  whose  friendship  would  be  very 
grateful  to  us ;  and  not  seldom  in  this  wayward  world  persons 
meet,  between  whom  this  feeling  is  mutual.  So  it  was  with 
Melton  and  Hugh — though  between  them  there  was  a  percep- 
tible if  not  a  just  ground  for  the  anticipation. 

Every  attention  which  hospitality  could  suggest,  was  given 
to  Hugh  in  an  equal  degree  with  Melton ;  and  though  he  some- 
times thought  the  Senora  was  more  stately  than  was  necessary, 
and  the  servants  rather  obsequious  than  hearty  in  their  atten- 
dance, on  the  whole,  he  had  no  reason  to  complain.  Left  en- 
tirely to  his  own  inclinations,  so  long  as  he  kept  within  the 
limits  prescribed,  he  was  well  pleased  to  be  alone.  Solitude  in 
an  army  is  out  of  the  question ;  the  constant  bustle,  the  endless 
routine,  the  never-changing  faces  and  the  monotonous  uniforms, 
parades,  guard-mountings  and  drills,  combine  to  stagnate  and 
weary  at  the  same  time.  The  daily  feeling  of  every  man  in 
such  circumstances,  until  he  has  become  reconciled  by  habit,  is  a 
strong  desire  ^*  to  flee  away  and  be  at  rest/'  Hugh  had  felt  this 
weariness  in  common  with  every  man,  who  has  quitted  civil 
life  for  military  existence  ;  and  the  repose  of  the  valley,  at  any 
time  refreshing,  was  now  almost  magical.  One  who  has  spen% 
his  life  in  the  hot  precincts  of  a  noisy  city,  is  prepared  to  enjoy 
the  stillness  and  peace  of  the  country ;  but  enjoyment  is  too 
tame  a  word  to  express  the  feelings  of  the  soldier  escaped  from 
the  camp. 


848  TALBOT  AND  VERKOH. 


In  many  of  his  walks,  Hugh  encountered  Mignel,  the  steward, 
who  seemed  very  anxious  to  ingratiate  himself  by  every  atten- 
tion servility  or  assiduity  could  suggest.  For  two  or  three 
days,  indeed,  it  was  with  difficulty  that  he  could  shake  him  off, 
so  determined  did  he  seem  to  wait  upon  the  prisoner's  footsteps. 
Hugh  at  first  thought  that  Melton  had  directed  this  man  to  watch 
him ;  but  on  indignantly  taxing  him  with  it,  he  was  at  once 
undeceived. 

•*  A  little  reflection,"  said  Melton,  calmly,  "  will  convince  you 
that  if  I  suspected  your  faith  I  would  confine  you  at  once,  and 
not  take  all  this  superfluous  trouble.  The  fact  is,  the  fellow  is 
a  steward — ^and  in  this  country  that  term  includes  every  epithet 
which  you  would  apply  to  a  coward  and  a  sycophant.  It  is 
already  noised  among  the  servants  that  you  have  some  interest 
with  the  Sefiora  Catharina ;  and  this  fellow  is  only  attempting 
to  provide  against  contingencies.  Besides,  he  hates  me  ;  for  no 
good  reason,  for  he  is  jealous  of  my  intercourse  with  his  wife, 
whose  aflection  he  feels  he  is  not  worthy  to  possess,  and  there- 
fore fears  to  lose  ;  and  he  attaches  himself  to  you  because,  with 
the  instinct  of  all  mean,  suspicious  natures,  he  divines  that  our 
interests  do  not  accord." 

After  this  explanation,  Hugh  took  the  first  opportunity  offiered 
quietly  to  rid  himself  of  his  persecuting  servility  ;  and,  although 
the  fellow  received  Hugh's  plain  rebuke  with  the  submissioB 
characteristic  of  his  class,  we  shall  see  that  the  venom  of  bis 
nature  received  and  retained  the  poison.  Hugh  was  troubled 
with  his  attentions  no  more :  and  sensitive  and  suspicious  as  he 
was  made  by  his  situation,  he  even  thought  an  unfavorable 
change  took  place  in  the  bearing  of  the  menials  of  the  house. 
It  is  possible  that  this  may  not  have  been  all  fancy  ;  for  it  was 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  349 


perfectly  in  keeping  with  the  character  of  such  a  man,  to  re- 
venge himself  in  that  way. 

However  this  may  have  been,  Hugh  was  now  allowed  to 
pursue  his  own  amusements,  unmolested,  for  several  days.  As 
yet  no  tidings  had  been  received  in  the  valley  of  the  result  of 
the  battle,  or  of  any  of  the  subsequent  events ;  and  the  eve- 
ning of  the  sixth  day  was  closing  into  night,  ere  any  messenger 
arrived  from  Saltillo.  Half  an  hour  before  dark  on  that  day, 
however,  while  slowly  rowing  back  towards  the  house,  after 
an  unusually  long  visit  to  the  tangled  beauties  of  the  island, 
Hugh  saw  a  man  ride  rapidly  into  the  court-yard  and  spring 
from  his  horse.  He  landed,  and  followed  him  into  the  house 
■whither  he  proceeded  without  addressing  any  one  without. 
Here  he  heard  the  tidings  which  the  reader  has  already  antici- 
pated— the  death  of  Bonaro  and  the  approach  of  Catharina. 
The  sefiora  turned  her  eyes  sternly  upon  Hugh  as  the  tidings 
were  told,  and  her  white  lips  moved  as  if  about  to  speak.  But 
she  remained  silent ;  and  Melton,  taking  Hugh's  aitn,  led  him 
forth  upon  the  lake  shore. 

They  walked  some  distance  from  the  house  without  speak- 
ing ;  but  each  felt  that  the  moment  for  explanation  had  come, 
and  each  was  endeavoring  to  arrange  his  thoughts.  Melton 
was,  as  usual,  the  first  to  speak — his  was  not  a  temper  to  brook 
delay. 

"  The  struggle,"  said  he,  stopping  short,  "  which  each  of  us 
has  anticipated  on  the  return  of  the  Sefiora  Catharina,  would 
now  be  unseemly  and  dishonorable  ;  we  have,  neither  of  us,  a 
right  to  thrust  our  private  feelings  into  the  sanctuary  of  her 
sorrow.      Let  us,   therefore,   now  agree  that  so  long  as   we 


350  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


may  remain  here,  we  will,  neither  of  us,  attempt  anything  of 
the  sort/' 

**  The  man  who  is  disposed  to  act  dishonorably,'*  said  Hugh, 
"  would  not  be  bound  by  any  pledge.  Were  either  of  us  in- 
clined selfishly  to  intrude  upon  the  sorrows  of  the  afflicted,  the 
other  could  not  honorably  keep  any  faith  with  him.  But,  so 
far  as  I  am  concerned,  my  course  must  be  determined  by  cir- 
cumstances. I  shall  not  consent  to  bind  myself  by  a  pledge 
not  to  do  anything  which  my  duty  requires  me  to  avoid  ;  nei- 
ther will  I  promise  to  avoid  anything  which  circumstances, 
when  I  know  them,  may  permit." 

"  What  course,  then,  do  you  propose  to  take  ?"  asked  Melton, 
coldly. 

"  That,  I  repeat,"  replied  Hugh,  "  must  be  determined  by  the 
future.  If  I  can  be  of  service  to  the  Sefiora  Catharina  in  any 
way,  I  shall  assuredly  not  be  reluctant  or  tardy  in  its  perform- 
ance. I  can  say  no  more  now.  If  my  course,  when  you  see 
it,  should  not  please  you,  I  am  your  prisoner,  and  you  can  do 
as  you  think  best ;  while,  however,  I  am  at  liberty  I  shall  act 
under  no  restraint." 

"  You  do  not  suppose  me  capable  of  using  my  power  for 
such  a  purpose,  I  hope !"  exclaimed  the  colonel. 

"  I  do  not  suppose  you  capable  of  anything  dishonorable. 
Colonel  Melton,"  said  Hugh  ;  "  but  you  may  consider  my  parole 
withdrawn  the  moment  you  see  cause  to  be  dissatisfied  with 
my  course," 

"  And  this  is  the  only  pledge  you  will  give  ?"  said  the 
colonel. 

"  I  can  give  none  other,"  said  Hugh. 

"  Then  I  suppose  we  need  say  no  more  on  the  subjeot." 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  351 


*'  I  see  no  good  end  to  be  attained  by  further  conversation, 
even  if  we  bad  time,  as  we  have  not ;  for  I  think  the  subject 
of  our  discourse  is  approaching  us." 

Melton  turned  hastily  round  and  beheld  a  carriage,  escorted 
by  about  twenty  armed  men,  slowly  approaching  them.  With- 
in, even  at  that  distance,  he  could  see  the  mourning  hues  worn 
by  the  inmates,  and  recognize  one  of  them  as  Catharina.  The 
two  men  turned  and  entered  the  house  to  avoid  even  the  appear- 
ance of  intrusion ;  and  soon  afterwards  the  bustle  and  voices 
in  the  hall  announced  that  the  bereaved  was  again  at  home — a 
home  left  a  few  short  months  ago  in  company  with  him  who 
was  now  no  more,  and  seen  again  under  auspices  of  sorrow 
and  change  but  seldom  known  ! . 

Darkness  had  closed  in  ere  our  friends  were  summoned  to  the 
evening  meal ;  and  here,  as  throughout  the  mansion,  every  face 
and  voice  and  movement  were  full  of  mourning.  Neither  of 
the  ladies  appeared ;  and  having  silently  partaken  of  the  re- 
past, each  left  the  table  alone.  Melton  mounted  his  horse,  and 
rode  off  to  the  encampment  of  his  men  ;  and  Hugh  turned  his 
footsteps  to  the  shaded  walks  of  the  little  garden  where  he  had 
spent  many  quiet  hours  during  his  captivity.  The  moon  was 
shining  brightly  through  the  leaves,  and  casting  dusky  shadows 
on  the  walks,  while  a  gentle,  wandering  wind  came  rustling 
among  the  flowers  laden  with  the  perfumes  of  a  thousand  blos- 
soms. Hugh  paced  quietly  and  thoughtfully  up  and  down  the 
walks  for  several  hours,  reflecting  of  the  thousand  things  con- 
nected with  his  probable  fate,  when  it  suddenly  occurred  to 
him  that  he  had  not  inquired  whether  any  news  had  been 
brought  as  to  the  fate  of  the  battle.  He  started  at  once,  to 
seek  some  one  of  the  mimerouB  persons  who  had  come  ^^VvYv. 


362  TALBOT -^AND  VERNON. 


Catharina,  when,  in  passing  from  one  walk  to  another,  his 
steps  were  suddenly  arrested  by  a  well-known  voice. 

"  Manning !"  said  Catharina ;  and  her  voice,  though  deeper 
and  more  melancholy,  was  still  as  low — was  still  as  soft  and 
sweet,  as  when  he  first  heard  it  pronounce  his  name — "  Man- 
ning I     Will  you  not  stay  a  moment  ?" 

He  turned,  and  she  stood  before  him  in  the  moonlight,  beau- 
tiful as  when  he  first  saw  her  in  the  mountain  of  Piiiones — 
beautiful,  though  sorrowful,  and  more  beautiful  because  sor- 
rowful. He  clasped  the  hand  extended  to  him,  and  drew  her 
within  his  arm.  A  kiss  of  love  and  youth  and  passionate  de- 
votion, recompensed  them  for  every  uncertainty  and  fear. 

"  A  moment !"  he  exclaimed.  "  And  will  you  drive  me 
away  at  the  end  of  a  moment  1" 

**  I  shall  not  drive  you  away.  Manning,**  she  replied  ;  "  but 
I  know  you  will  soon  go.** 

"  Why  should  I  go,  cara  mial" 

^*  Because  it  is  late  and  my  aunt  will  be  seeking  me,*'  she  re- 
plied.    "  And  besides,  this  is  not  a  fit  place  and  time.*' 

"  All  times  and  places  are  proper,  dearest,  to  those  whose 
hearts  are  pure.** 

"  That  is  the  logic  of  love.  Manning,**  she  said  with  a  faint 
smile ;  "  and  that  is  always  sophistry.  But  sit  here  beside  me," 
she  continued,  leading  him  to  a  seat,  "  and  tell  me  briefly  how 
you  came  here,  and  why  Colonel  Melton  is  here  ?  Tell  me  all 
that  has  happened  since  we  parted.** 

"  That  is  soon  done,"  said  Hugh,  seating  himself  beside  her 
and  encircling  her  with  his  arm.  **  I  was  taken  as  you  saw,  was 
brought  here  by  the  colonel,  and  am  now  on  my  parol." 

**  You  have  heard  of  the  death ?*'     She  he^tated. 


4 

TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  353 


"  Yes,  yes,  car  a  mia^^  he  interrupted,  "  do  not  think  of  it ; 
let  me  now  be  father  and  brother  and  all  to  you/' 

She  covered  her  face  with  her  hands.  Hugh  withdrew  one 
gently  and  pressed   it  in  his. 

"  You  are  all  to  me  now,  indeed,  Manning,"  she  murmured. 
**  Forgive  me,  if  I  grieve  that  it  is  so." 

"  Forgive  you!**  he  exclaimed,  "I  could  not  love  you  if  you 
did  not  grieve.  Do  not  think,  dearest,  that  I  would  abate  one 
tear  of  filial  sorrow  ;  it  will  make  me  love  you  more,  because 
it  will  make  you  need  my  affection  more." 

"  I  do  need  it,  indeed,'*  she  murmured ;  "  but  let  us  not 
speak  of  it  now — to-morrow — some  other  time — ** 

"  I  would  not  steal  one  moment  from  sorrow,**  said  Hugh  ; 
"but,  dearest,  even  sorrow  consecrates  love,  for  without  love 
there  could  be  no  sorrow  ;  let  them  mingle  then,  and  the  one 
will  assuage  the  other.** 

She  lifted  her  eyes  to  his  and  gazed  into  his  face  with  a  long, 
earnest  look  of  mingled  affection  and  melancholy.  She  cast 
her  head  upon  his  shoulder  and  sobbed  deeply  and  silently 
Hugh  drew  her  closer  to  him,  and  whispered  words  of  conso- 
lation to  her  stricken  spirit — consolation  not  wholly  ineffectual. 
For  after  a  few  minutes  given  to  grief,  she  raised  her  head  and 
dried  her  tears. 

"  Forgive  me,**  said  she,  "if  I  seem  selfish — if  I  seem  not  to 
repay  your  affection.  Believe  me.  Manning,  I  am  not  so  un- 
grateful.** 

"  It  is  I  who  am  selfish  and  ungrateful,**  said  he,  "  to  press 
my  love  upon  you  at  such  a  moment.** 

"  Hush,**  she  whispered  holding  up  her  finger.     "  We  are 


not  alone — there  is  some  one  behind  that  magnoVvd. 


)> 


354  '  TALBOT  AND  VERN'ON. 


Hugh  stepped  quickly  to  the  bush^  but  the  intruder,  if  there 
was  one,  was  gone.  ,He  listened  attentively  and  thought  he 
heard  stealthy  footsteps,  and  many  of  them,  beyond  the  hedge; 
but  they  were  still  in  a  moment,  and  he  attributed  the  noise  to 
the  wind  rustling  among  the  shrubbery. 

"  There  is  no  one  near,  cara^*  he  said,  returning  to  her  side, 
"  you  heard  only  the  wind." 

"Perhaps  so,"  she  replied,  "  but  I  thought  I  heard  a  footstep 
on  the  gravel." 

"  There  is  no  one  there,"  he  again  assured  her  ;  and  resum- 
ing their  former  posture,  they  recommenced  a  conversation 
which  we  will  not  repeat — love  and  sorrow,  gloomy  retrospec- 
tion and  bright  anticipation,  joy  and  grief  mingled,  as  they 
always  are,  in  this  world  of  change.  Catharina  forgot  her  wish 
to  return  to  the  house,  and  Hugh  ceased  to  remember  his  capti- 
vity. The  past  was  not  forgotten,  it  is  true  ;  but  the  sunshine 
of  the  present  shone  back  upon  its  gloom ;  and  eyes  dazzled  by 
the  future  were  unwilling  to  recur  to  the  darkness  that  was 
gone. 

4 

Some  two  miles  from  them,  at  the  upper  or  southern  end  of 
the  valley,  in  a  rancho  of  more  than  ordinary  neatness,  sat 
Colonel  Melton,  consulting  with  an  officer  of  liis  corps.  He 
had  just  received  the  news  of  Santa  Anna's  discomfiture  and 
defeat  six  days  before  ;  and  at  the  same  time  he  had  received 
orders,  which  must  soon  take  him  from  the  vicinity  of  Rinco- 
nada. 

"  We  must  fall  back  further  from  the  city,"  said  the  colonel. 
"  To-morrow,  I  hope,  Sanchez  will  return  ;  the  rest  are  all  in,  I 
believe,  and  so  large  a  body  of  men  cannot  remain  long  undis- 
cover6d." 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  355 


"  It  is  possible,"  said  the  officer,  "  that  our  position  may  be 
already  discovered.  A  man  came  in  this  evening  with  the  in- 
telligence that  a  company  of  Texans  has  been  scouring  the 
plain  all  day — probably  with  a  view  of  finding  the  entrance  to 
the  valley  from  the  west." 

"  Let  them  come,"  said  Melton  ;  "  nothing  would  please  me 
better." 

"  I  would  rather  they  would  keep  to  the  plain,"  said  the 
officer.  "  Our  men  dread  a  Texan  as  they  do  a  Camanche  ;  and 
a  panic  could  be  produced  sooner  by  crying  *  TejanosT  than 
by  any  other  means." 

**  Nevertheless,"  said  Melton,  "  let  them  come.  See  what 
that  knock  is." 

The  officer  rose  and  opened  the  door,  at  which  some  one  had 
knocked  several  times. 

"  A  man  wants  to  see  the  colonel,"  said  the  lancer  on  guard. 

**  Let  him  come  in,  then,"  said  Melton ;  and  stepping  steal- 
thily as  a  cat,  with,  however,  some  appearance  of  haste,  en- 
tared  Miguel  the  steward. 

"  Well,  Miguel,"  said  the  colonel,  "  what  do  you  want?" 

The  steward  glanced  at  the  officer  as  if  he  wished  to  be 
alone. 

"  Withdraw,  Blanco,"  said  Melton  ;  "  Miguel  has  some  mo- 
mentous secret  to  communicate." 

"  You  are  right,  senor,**  said  the  man,  when  Blanco  had 
closed  the  door  ;  "  I  have  a  secret  to  tell." 

"  Out  with  it,  then,"  said  Melton,  curtly ;  *'  you  know  I  am 
not  patient." 

**  As  quickly  as  possible,  5e«or,  "cringed  the  steward.  I  have 
just  come  in  a  gallop  from  Rinconada.** 


356  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


**  Ha  I"  exclaimed  Melton,  "  what  could  make  you  ride  so 
fast?" 

"  The  desire  to  serve  you,  selior,*'  the  man  answered  cower- 
ing. 

♦*  Ha  I"  exclaimed  the  colonel,  with  a  kind  of  stern  whisper ; 
he  was  strongly  excited,  for  he  knew  that  something  deeply  in- 
teresting to  him  must  have  brought  this  man  here.  '<  Go  on," 
he  said,  in  the  same  tone,  **  let  me  have  proof  of  your  desire.'' 

"  I  have  heard,"  commenced  the  man,  trembling  and  hesitat- 
ing, <*  that  you  feel  an  interest — **  he  stopped  and  cast  a  timid 
glance  at  Melton. 

"  You  have  discovered  by  spying  and  eavesdropping,  that  I 
feel  an  interest  in  your  young  mistress,"  hissed  the  latter. 
"  Well,  go  on." 

"  The  steward  began  to  regret  the  step  he  had  taken ;  but  it 
was  too  late  to  retrace  it. 

"  Well,"  he  recommenced,  gulping  down  the  insult,  "  this 
evening,  but  a  few  minutes  ago,  I  was  walking  in  the  gar- 
den—" 

"  What  were  you  doing  in  the  garden  ?"  asked  Melton, 
sternly ;  and  seeing  the  man  tremble,  he  added — "  Never  mind, 
go  on — I  shall  judge  for  myself  when  I  hear  the  story. 

"I  was  walking  in  the  garden,*'  again  commenced  Miguel, 
enjoying  the  moonlight,  when  the  Sefiora  Catharina  came 
forth,  and  walked  very  near  me  down  one  of  the  paths ;  and 
soon  afterwards,  the  Senor  Americano,  Manning — " 

"  Ha !"  hissed  Melton. 

"  The  Sellor  Manning  came  into  the  same  walk,"  continued 
Miguel,  more  glibly,  "and  went  down  it  in  the  same  direction; 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  367 


it 


<< 


but  the  sefiora  turned  when  she  heard  his  footsteps,  and  came 
back,  as  if  to  meet  him." 

Well,"  said  the  colonel,  calmly,  "  what  took  place,  then  V* 

They  then  met,  said  the  steward,"  now  sure  of  his  ground, 

"  and  turned  aside  to  a  little  bower,  which  you  remember — " 

"  Yes,  yes — go  on." 

**  I  was  afraid  to  move,"  continued  the  scoundrel,  "  for  fear 
they  would  hear  me,  and  think  I  had  been  watching  them ;  and 
then  it  occurred  to  me,  that  you  would  like  to  hear  how  they 
met,  and  I  was  forced  to  remain." 

"  I  understand  all  that — go  on  with  your  story — what  did  you 
hear?" 

'*  I  saw  the  Sejior  Manning  place  his  arm  about  her,  and 
heard  him  press  her  to  stay,  when  she  said  she  wished  to  go  In ; 
he  told  her  how  he  loved  her,  and  hoped  she  would  not  allow 
her  sorrow  for  her  father  to  make  her  forget  him ;  and  when 
she  urged  him  to  let  her  go,  he  only  held  her  the  faster :  she 
cried  a  long  time,  and  when  she  looked  up,  I  took  advantage 
of  the  noise  made  by  the  wind,  and  came  away  to  you." 

"  And,  doubtless,  you  expect  a  great  reward,"  said  Melton, 
speaking  through  his  teeth,  and  giving  significance  to  his  words 
by  a  blazing  eye.     "  Fear  not — you  shall  have  it.     Come  with 


me. 


The  steward  followed  him  trembling,  for  there  was  that  in 
his  eye  and  manner  which  made  his  blood  run  cold.  Melton 
opened  the  door  and  stepped  out. 

"  Blanco  I"  he  called,  "  bring  me  ten  men  mounted,  in- 
stantly !" 

The  men  were  before  him  almost  as  soon  as  the  words 
were  spoken. 


368  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


**  Dismount  here,  three  of  you,"  he  ordered  ;  and  three  were 
on  the  ground  at  once.  "  Untie  the  lariat,**  It  was  done,  and 
Miguel  turned  pale  with  fright.  "  Now  seize  this  traitor,  and 
hang  him  to  yonder  limb.  Out,  traitor!"  he  exclaimed,  as  the 
affrighted  wretch  fell  upon  his  knees,  and  absolutely  screamed 
with  terror.  The  men  hesitated,  moved  by  the  extreme  horror 
of  the  abject  wretch. 

"  Seize  him,  I  say  !"  thundered  Melton.  "  Christ !  shall  I 
not  be  obeyed  ?"  His  sword  flashed  in  the  moonlight,  as  he 
reiterated  the  order.  His  men  knew  him  too  well  to  hesitate 
longer — they  hastily  adjusted  the  rope  around  the  steward's 
neck. 

** O /  Madre  de  DioSf**  screamed  the  wretched  man.  "0! 
God  I  oh,  mercy!  mercy!  mercy!  Do  not — oh!  do  not  kill 
me  !  I  will  serve  you — I  will  kiss  your  feet — I  will  live  for 
you — I  will  die  for  you !  Oh,  mercy  !  oh,  spare  me  !  spare  me !" 
and  the  aflrighted  man  burst  into  tears,  and  sobbed  and  screamed 
until  his  voice  died  away  in  a  deathly  gurgle,  as  they  dragged 
him  rudely  away. 

"  Be  quick!**  sternly  ordered  the  colonel.  But  they  saw  he 
was  in  earnest,  and  they  needed  no  further  order.  They  threw 
the  lariat  over  the  limb,  and  two  of  them  at  once  jerked  the 
strangling  man  into  the  air.  A  gurgling  sound  came  from  his 
throat — a  convulsive  twitch  or  two  agitated  his  frame,  and  then 
all  was  relaxed  and  still.  The  man  was  dead,  and  his  lifeless 
body  swung  fearfully  in  the  moonlight,  and  his  shadow  was 
cast  at  the  colonel's  feet.  Love  often  lifts  men  towards  the 
angels,  and  not  seldom  lowers  them  towards  the  fiends. 

"  Tie  the  lariat  to  that  root  now,"  said  Melton,  "  and  let  this 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  359 


"warn  you  all  from  ever  playing  traitor.  Mount,  now,  and  fol- 
low me." 

As  he  spoke  he  sprang  into  the  saddle  ;  his  men  followed  his 
example,  and  the  little  band  thundered  at  a  gallop  towards  the 
house.  The  colonel  rode  erect  and  rigid  in  the  saddle.  His 
teeth  were  set  and  his  eye  blazing  with  suppressed  passion.  He 
had  returned  his  sword  to  the  scabbard,  but  he  kept  his 
hand  upon  the  hilt,  and  at  almost  every  hundred  paces  he  sank 
his  spurs  deep  into  his  horse's  flanks.  By  the  time  they  reach- 
ed the  turning  point,  in  front  of  the  house,  the  gallop  had  be- 
come a  furious  run,  and  it  was  with  difficulty  that  his  men  kept 
pace  with  the  fiery  speed  of  his  blooded  charger. 

He  dashed  madly  into  the  open  courtyard  gate  and  sprang 
from  his  horse.  Seizing  a  pine  torch  from  the  hand  of  a  peon^ 
he  plunged  through  the  gate  and  into  the  garden  walks.  A 
few  steps  brought  him  to  the  place  where  Hugh  and  Catharina 
"were  standing,  astonished,  and  ignorant  what  this  sudden  appa- 
rition  meant.  Melton  strode  furiously  up  to  them,  with  flaring 
torch  and  face  burning  with  rage. 

'*  What  means  this  furious  haste,  Seflor  Melton  "?  asked  Ca- 
tharina, drawing  herself  haughtily  up  before  him.  He  gave  no 
answer,  but  a  glance  of  scorn  ;  and  grasping  Hugh  by  the  arm 
shook  him  furiously. 

"Traitor!     Villain!"  he  exclaimed;  "is  it  thus  you  betray 


me ' 


"  Unhand  me,  sir !"  said  Hugh  sternly ;  "  arm  me  like  your- 
self and  we  shall  see  whether  your  courage  equal  your  au- 
dacity." 

"Audacity!  Traitor!"  shouted  the  colonel,  almost  beside 
himself  with  rage.     '^Audacity!*'  But  as  he  spoke  a  VioV^uV 


360  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


blow  from  Hugh's  powerful  arm  struck  him  in  the  face  and 
felled  him  to  the  ground.  At  the  same  moment  one  of  Melton's 
men  who  had  followed  his  frantic  steps  into  the  garden,  struck 
Manning  with  a  lance,  inflicting  a  deep  and  dangerous  wound 
in  the  side.  He  fell  bleeding  to  the  earth ;  and,  regardless  of 
the  shrieks  of  C^atharina,  several  pressed  forward  and  endeav- 
ored to  dispatch  him. 

"  Hold  I  every  man  of  you !  Hold  !  on  your  lives  !"  shouted 
a  loud,  resounding  voice ;  and  a  tall,  powerful  man  in  plain 
American  clothes  stepped  in  between  Hugh  and  the  Mexicans. 
One  swing  of  a  broad  and  heavy  cavalry  sabre  dashed  up  the 
heads  of  the  lances,  and  shivered  one  of  them  in  splinters.  The 
new  comer  cleaved  a  lancer  to  the  earth,  and  with  his  left  hand 
fired  a  pistol  among  the  rest.  A  crashing  sound  of  many  feet 
was  beard  among  the  shrubbery  ;  and  twenty  Texan  Rangers 
sprang  from  their  cover  on  the  surprised  Mexicans.  The  flash- 
ing  of  sabres  in  the  moonlight,  the  crackling  fire  of  rifles,  and 
the  death  groans  of  the  slain  were  intermingled  with  the  ring- 
ing of  steel  upon  steel,  and  the  grasp  of  the  deadly  struggle. 
The  trampling  of  many  feet,  and  the  home-thrust  of  the  short- 
ened sabre  lasted  several  silent  minutes  ;  and  suddenly  a  shout 
was  beared  from  the  court-yard.  The  remainder  of  the  Rang- 
ers were  storming  in  at  the  gate — ^the  place  was  attacked,  and 
already  taken.  Colonel  Melton  rose  raging  to  his  feet,  and  en- 
deavored with  his  voice  and  arm  to  turn  the  tide  of  battle  ;  but 
a  heavy  blow  from  the  Ranger-captain's  sabre  stretched  him 
senseless  and  bleeding  on  the  ground.  His  men — the  few  who 
were  left  alive — at  once  surrendered.  The  attack  upon  the 
court-yard  had  been  equally  successful.  The  band  were  about 
making  their  onslaught,  when  the  colonel's  furious  advance  de- 


TALBOT  AND  VBBNON.  361 


layed  and  disconcerted  them ;  but  luckily  he  did  not  perceive 
them,  and  they  soon  discovered  that  his  arrival  was  not  caused 
by  their  attack.  Dashing  into  the  open  gate,  on  hearing  the  sig- 
nal of  the  pistol,  they  fell  at  once  upon  the  lancers  of  the  escort 
there  assembled,  and  five  minutes  of  furious  fighting  secured 
the  victory. 

The  place  was  taken.  The  report  made  to  Colonel  Melton, 
but  a  few  minutes  before,  was  true — the  Rangers  had  been 
seeking  the  entrance  to  the  valley,  and  unluckily  for  Melton, 
had  found  it.  In  ten  minutes  after  the  attack  the  place  was 
theirs — every  avenue  of  escape  was  guarded  ;  and  the  Ranger 
captain  had  leisure  to  count  his  losses.  Almost  the  first  object 
which  attracted  his  attention  was  Catharina,  holding  Manning's 
drooping  head,  and  bathing  his  forehead  with  her  tears. 

"  Where  is  Anderson  V*  he  asked.  "  Look  to  this  man  first, 
Anderson,''  he  said  to  a  surgeon,  at  least  one  of  which,  with 
fiome  degree  of  skill,  a  company  of  Rangers  always  contains. 

16 


CHAPTER    XII. 

"  But  mjf  I  piithM,  ia  he  coming  honM."— Coifi»r  or  EmaoBS. 

*^  Let  ns  ftwftf  :  we  hare  had  enoagh  of  tkis ."— FssTvt. 

"  Thif  ii  mere  madneu." — ^HAin.KT. 

^  Breathes  there  the  man  with  soul  to  dead, 
Who  never  to  himself  hath  said, 
This  is  my  own,  my  native  land  ? 
Whose  heart  hath  ne'er  within  him  burned, 
Ai  home  his  footsteps  he  hath  turned, 
From  wandering  on  a  foreign  strand  ?"— Scott. 

The  rargeon — a  man  of  some  experience,  as  every  Ranger  is, 
whether  professional  or  not— examined  Manning's  wound  by 
torchlight ;  and  Catharina  gazed  anxiously  at  him  while  he 
probed  the  gash,  as  if  her  own  fate  depended  on  his  judg* 
ment. 

'<  The  wound  is  mortal/'  said  the  surgeon.  Catharina's  eyes 
turned  up  to  heaven,  and  her  hands  fell  by  her  sides. 

"  She  has  fainted,"  said  the  captain.     "  Carry  her  within." 

The  menials  who  stood  gazing  by  lifted  her  gently  from  the 
ground,  and  bore  her  away.  The  same  office  was  performed 
for  Manning;  and  the  surgeon,  having  dressed  his  wounds, 
found  tim?  to  look  to  others.  Melton's  injuries  were  found 
severe,  thoi;gh  ppf;  dangerous ;  and  he  was  at  once  placed  in 
quarters,  where  he  would  be  comfortable,  but  safe.  He  had 
been  taken  in  the  toils  with  all  his  me^  whp  were  with  him  i 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  363 

and  he  knew  that  before  morning  the  remainder  of  his  bat- 
talion would  be  surprised,  and  either  taken  or  cut  to  pieces. 
As  the  excitement  of  the  hour  before  subsided,  he  became 
gloomy  and  silent — indeed,  he  had  said  but  little  after  his  cap- 
ture. Perhaps  the  violence  and  blood  of  his  course  began  to 
sink  into  his  spirit ;  as  his  mind  cooled,  he,  perhaps,  reflected 
upon  the  high-handed  deed  with  which  he  had  made  the  night 
memorable  to  himself,  as  well  as  to  others ;  and  the  certainty 
that  he  had  only  freed  the  world  of  a  treacherous  domestic  spy, 
which  justified  the  execution  in  his  eyes  when  he  committed 
it,  now  seemed  to  melt  away  and  be  no  more  a  justification. 
However  this  may  have  been,  when  removed  to  a  strong  room 
in  the  house,  he  walked  moodily  in,  and  without  speaking  a 
word  threw  himself  upon  a  couch,  and  allowed  his  wounds  to 
be  attended  to.  To  the  inquiry  of  the  surgeon,  whether  he 
wanted  anything,  he  returned  no  answer  ;  a  moment  afterwards 
the  key  turned  upon  him,  and  he  was  alone  with  his  own 
thoughts. 

Hugh  was  carried  to  the  chamber  pointed  out  as  his ;  and  by 
his  bedside  stood  the  Ranger-surgeon.  The  door  opened  quietly, 
and  pale  as  death,  but  calm  and  firm,  Catharina  entered.  An 
hour  had  elapsed  since  she  had  been  borne  within,  and  now  the 
house  was  still  as  it  had  been  three  hours  before.  The  moon 
shone  brightly  through  the  graceful  tracery  and  trefoiling  of  the 
Gothic  window,  and  fell  warm  and  yellow  on  the  matted  floor. 
The  light  was  shaded  in  the  sick  man's  chamber,  and  through 
the  pointed  arches  could  be  seen  the  shining  stars;  and  through 
the  lattice  came  the  sighing  of  the  night-wind  mournfully. 
Scarcely  breaking  with  her  footsteps  the  enchanted  BtiUne^  ol 
the  scene,  she  walked  slowly  to  his  bedside  aud  towcVve^  \l\% 


364  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 

drooping  hand.  No  sign  of  recognition  came  from  him  she 
loved ;  the  surgeon  took  her  hand  from  his,  and  gently  led  her 
to  the  door. 

"  Is  there  no  hope  ?''  she  asked  earnestly,  gazing  in  his  face. 

♦*  None,"  he  replied  calmly,  and  she  turned  away.  Walking 
noiselessly  to  the  end  of  the  hall,  she  paused  before  a  narrow 
door,  over  which  was  sculptured  in  the  stone  the  figure  of  a 
cross.  Pushing  it  gently  back,  she  stepped  in  and  closed  it  be- 
hind her.  It  was  a  domestic  chapel,  and  on  the  altar  were 
burning  long  wax  candles,  while  blazing  from  amid  rich  gilding 
and  gorgeous  ornaments,  a  silver  cross  with  golden  rays  flashed 
back  tl^  pure  white  light.  Behind  the  altar  rose  one  of  those 
noble  Grothic  windows,  in  which  the  tracery  and  the  penetra- 
tions both  preserve  their  equalized  importance,  and  whose 
pointed  arches  look  like  leaves  of  light.  Upon  the  lake  without, 
so  still,  so  calm,  so  pure,  was  dashed  the  silver  moonlight ;  and 
from  its  depth  shone  up  another  firmament  in  which  were 
sailing  moon  and  stars  and  fleecy  clouds.  The  little  island,  like 
an  emerald  set  in  silver,  sat  on  the  quiet  waters  double  ;  and 
the  shadows  of  its  trees  seemed  pointing  to  that  other  firmament 
beneath. 

Catharina,  however,  saw  not  these  things;  or,  if  she  did, 
heeded  them  not,  but  glided  noiselessly  towards  the  altar.  The 
solemn  silence  of  the  midnight  hour,  the  loneliness  which 
hovers,  like  a  spirit,  round  an  altar  in  the  night,  and  the  shadowy 
light  that  came  reflected  from  the  candles,  burning  unattended 
in  the  house  of  God,  were  all  in  keeping  with  the  melancholy 
of  her  feelings.  She  turned  aside  and  came  not  to  the  altar, 
but  knelt  within  a  shadowy  niche,  where  the  sable  mourning 
hues  of  the  drapery  mingled  with  the  shades.     She  came  not 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  '      355 


to  the  altar — the  gorgeous  trappings  of  that  worship  jarred 
against  her  heart;  the  humble  Christian  came  within  the 
chapel  to  address  herself  to  God,  and  not  to  images ;  for  she  felt 
that  God  alone  could  lift  her  from  her  darkness.  With  upturned 
face,  whose  paleness  shone  like  marble  from  among  her  mourn- 
ing weeds — with  hands  clasped  on  her  heaving  breast,  and 
every  attitude  and  motion  speaking  eloquence  of  earnest  sup- 
plication— she  turned  her  thoughts  to  Heaven.  Her  lips  moved 
ill  prayer,  and  though  no  sound  came  from  them,  the  words 
were  breathed  more  earnestly  than  human  voice  can  speak. 
She  prayed  fervently  and  long ;  the  color  went  and  came,  and 
mantled  all  her  face  and  neck  ;  her  fingers  clasped  each  other, 
and  rose  and  fell  upon  her  snowy  breast  with  deepened  respira- 
tion. 

At  last  the  muscles  of  her  rigid  face  relaxed — her  fingers 
slowly  unclasped  themselves,  and  her  body  bent  towards  the 
ground.  She  rose  quietly  and  calmly,  and  glided  back  to 
Manning's  room.  Her  step  was  not  more  light,  but  her  soul 
was  braced  against  affliction  ;  she  could  now  bear  to  see  him 
die,  and  though  her  heart  might  break,  she  felt  that  she  was  no 
longer  weak.  The  surgeon  was  still  standing  by  the  bed-side  ; 
and  when  she  took  again  his  patient's  hand,  he  turned  away  and 
walked  across  the  room.  She  pressed  her  lips  to  Hugh's  cold 
forehead,  with  a  melancholy  kiss ;  but  no  sign  of  recognition 
yet  was  visible.  She  covered  her  face  with  her  hand,  as  if 
overcome ;  but  a  moment  afterwards  she  raised  her  eyes  and 
fixed  them  on  the  ashy  features  of  her  dying  lover.  The  sur- 
geon came  back  and  tried  to  draw  her  away ;  but  a  look  from 
those  dry  but  mournful  eyes  made  him  desist ;  he  saw  his  intec- 
ference  could  only  give  her  pain,  and   could  not  bexi^^kX.  \v\^ 


366  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


patient.  Servants  entered  with  the  bandages  and  water  he  had 
ordered.  He  shook  his  head  as  if  no  good  could  come  of  them ; 
t>ut  still  he  used  them,  Catharina  watching  every  movement 
and  striving  to  assist  him. 

**  Nothing/'  said  he  softly,  "  but  the  hand  of  God  can  save 
his  life  ;  but  we  will  not  neglect  all  in  our  power." 

''There  is  hope  then?"  said  Catharina  quickly. 

The  surgeon  pointed  upwards,  and  Catharina  bowed  her 
head  in  grief  and  resignation. 


More  than  a  fortnight  elapsed,  after  the  final  retreat  of 
Santa  Anna,  before  our  friends  Vernon  and  Clajrton  were  able 
to  set  out  on  their  return  home.  The  resignation  of  the  latter 
was  not  accepted  until  it  was  certain  that  the  fight  was  not  to 
be  renewed,  and  the  former  was  unwilling  to  go  without  him. 
The  communication,  too,  was  closed  between  Monterey  and 
Camargo,  so  that  travelling,  except  in  large  bodies,  was  unsafe. 
Taylor  had  advanced  again  to  Agua  Nueva,  and  returned  to 
Buena  Vista,  where  the  army  was  now  encamped  for  the  sum- 
mer. Two  or  three  days  after  this  last  movement,  Clayton 
announced  that  his  resignation  was  at  last  accepted,  and  on 
the  following  morning  they  set  out  for  Monterey,  en  route  for 
home. 

"If,"  said  Vernon,  as  they  emerged  from  Saltillo,  upon  the 
plain  which  stretches  away  from  the  city  to  the  east,  "if 
Manning  were  with  us  I  would  feel  contented:  I  dislike  to 
return  home  leaving  him  in  such  circumstances — even  though 
my  own  be  worse." 

"  And  besides,"  said  Clayton,  "  I  wish  he  were  with  us,  be-. 

cause  I  suspect  he  might  do  something  to  benefit  you." 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  367 


"  I  fear  there  is  but  small  probability  of  that,"  Vernon  re- 
plied, "except  as  the  support  of  a  warm,  decided  friend  is 
always  valuable." 

**  Grateful  to  the  feelings,  if  nothing  more,"  said  Clayton. 
**  True ;  but  have  you  ever  endeavored  to  penetrate  the  dark- 
ness that  hangs  over  this  charge  against  you  ?  In  all  our  con- 
versations I  believe  you  have  never  intimated  a  suspicion  of  any 
design  or  plot  against  you." 

**  No,"  answered  Vernon,  "  because  I  can  imagine  no  reason 
why  any  one  should  wish  to  ruin  me.  It  must  all  be  the  result 
of  some  unfortunate  mistake." 

"If  Talbot  never  signed  the  note,"  said  Clayton  musingly, 
"  there  certainly  was  a  mistake  in  your  supposing  he  did ;  and 
I  know  him  too  well  to  suppose  he  would  deny  his  signature." 

"I  have  told  you,  I  believe,"  said  Allen,  "  that  the  note  was 
lying  signed  on  my  table  when  I  returned,  with  a  note  in  Tal- 
bot's writing ;  that  I  then  walked  with  Hugh  to  his  father's 
and  got  the  money.  That  is  all  I  remember.  Yon  say  Talbot 
swore  before  the  grand  jury  that  he  left  it  unsigned  with  a  note 
explaining  the  reason  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Clayton,  "  and  I  have  no  doubt  swore  truly  ;  for 
I  examined  the  note,  as  I  told  you  ;  and,  though  a  remarkably 
good  imitation,  the  signature  is  certainly  not  genuine.  Now,  I 
do  not  know  that  I  have  ever  told  you  what  my  suspicion  is  ; 
but  Hugh's  presence  in  the  house  when  you  returned  makes  it 
at  least  very  important  that  we  should  have  him  sworn  as  a 
witness.  He  is,  of  course,  above  suspicion  of  having  made 
this  false  signature ;  but  he  may  be  able  to  direct  our  inquiries 
to  the  right  person" 


368  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


Vertion  shook  his  head.  "  I  fear  not"  said  he ;  "  for  if  he 
had  seen  anything  to  excite  suspicion,  he  would  have  told  me. " 

**  Of  course,"  said  Clayton,  "  he  could  not  have  seen  the 
signature  placed  there  ;  but  he  may  have  met  some  one  coming 
out,  or  some  one  may  have  been  there  when  he  entered — at  any 
rate  we  must  delay  the  trial  until  he  can  be  found." 

•*  That  will  scarcely  be  before  the  end  of  the  war,"  said 
Vernon,  •*  if  ever  ;  and  I  cannot  rest  under  such  an  imputation 
so  long.  He  may  be  killed,  though  I  hope  not.  Apropos"  he 
added  suddenly,  "  when  Colonel  Thorpe  asked  me  of  him,  you 
told  me  to  lead  him  to  believe  that  Hugh  was  dead.  I  never 
asked  you  why  ?" 

"  Well,"  said  Clayton  smiling,  "  it  will  be  difficult  for  me 
to  give  an  answer,  unless  I  attribute  it  to  a  lawyer's  instinct. 
I  had  reason  to  believe  that  he  had  instigated  the  attempt  upon 
your  and  his  life  ;  and  accident  informed  me  that  it  was  Hugh 
whom  he  especially  pursued.  I  could  not  conceive  for  what 
reason ;  and  I  desired  that  he  might  think  his  plot  successful, 
in  order  that  he  *  might  show  his  hand.'  " 

"  I  hope  it  is  not  only  your  *  lawyer's  instinct'  that  causes 
you  to  suspect  him." 

"  Not  altogether,"  said  he ;  and  he  detailed  for  the  first  time 
the  information  he  had  received  from  the  Mexican,  who  so 
mysteriously  met  his  fate  in  the  rancho  of  Buena  Vista. 

"  After  all,"  said  Allen  after  a  pause,  "  this  may  be  an  entire 
mistake.  The  man's  craft  may  have  induced  him  to  acquiesce 
in  your  evident  suspicion  of  Thorpe ;  or  the  conference  over- 
heard by  the  corporal  may  have  related  to  some  matter  entirely 
different." 

You  are  too  willing  to  believe  men  honest,"  said  Clayton,  in 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  369 


a  tone  strongly  indicative  of  the  lawyer  ;  "  but  on  your  suppo- 
sition, how  do  you  account  for  the  man's  sudden  death  ?" 

**  I  do  not  attempt  to  account  for  it,"  said  Allen,  "  but  at 
least  I  cannot  connect  Thorpe  with  it.*' 

«*  Well,  well,"  said  Clayton  impatiently,  "  we  will  not  argue 
about  so  dark  a  mystery.  If  we  can  only  find  Manning  un- 
hurt, or  even  alive,  I  shall  be  content  to  let  it  remain  unex- 
plained." 

They  rode  on  in  silence;  and  during  their  journey  to  Mon- 
terey, nothing  more  passed  that  concerns  our  story.  They 
reached  that  city  after  riding  several  hours  in  the  night ;  and, 
learning  that  a  train  and  escort  were  to  start  for  Camargo  in 
two  days,  they  concluded  to  await  that  opportunity  of  safe 
convoy.  On  the  following  morning,  in  visiting  the  various 
quarters  of  the  city,  they  fell  in  with  an  officer  of  the  Texan 
Rangers,  who  pointed  out  Colonel  Melton,  then  on  his  parol, 
and  related  the  circumstances  under  which  he  had  been  taken. 

"At  Rinconada?"  said  Vernon;  "the  hacienda  of  Sefior 
Bonaro  ?" 

"  The  same,"  said  the  officer ;  "  and  it  is  said  that  this 
Bonaro's  daughter  attracted  the  colonel  into  danger.  At  all 
events,  when  we  took  him,  he  was  in  a  towering  passion  with 
an  American  prisoner  he  had,  because  the  lady  seemed  to  favor 
him,  or  rather  did  favor  him — for  I  lay  within  sight  of  them 
during  as  interesting  an  exchange  of  kisses  as  ever  I  witnessed." 
The  loud,  free  laugh  of  the  Ranger-lieutenant  was  checked  by 
Vernon's  quick  remark  : 

"That  could  have  been  no  one  but  Manning  I" 

"Manning?     Yes,"  said   the  ranger,  "that  was  what  she 


are  talbot  and  vernon. 


called  him,  when  he  was  about  to  leave  the  garden  without 
seeing  her/* 

"  And  what  became  of  him  ?*'  asked  Allen. 

"  He  was  mortally  wounded,  Anderson  said,  by  one  of  the 
mulatto  devils,  and  we  left  him  at  the  hacienda,  I  did  not  go 
back  after  we  drove  the  lancers  from  the  valley — ^perhaps  the 
captain  may  know  more  about  him/' 

The  captain  was  found,  but  he  could  give  no  additional  in- 
formation, except  that  the  lancers  had  come  back,  after  the 
return  of  the  rangers,  and  desolated  the  -valley  with  fire  and 
sword. 

*'  Your  friend,  as  he  seems  to  be,*'  said  he,  *'  was  too  badly 
wounded  to  be  removed  when  I  called  my  men  oE  in  the  morn- 
ing, and  he  was  accordingly  left  in  the  care  of  the  Sejlora  and 
a  Mexican  surgeon,  with  one  of  my  men  who  was  in  the  same 
situation.     I  suppose  neither  is  living  now.*' 

The  captain  concluded  his  story  with  an  offer  to  send  twenty 
men  with  them  to  search  the  valley,  assuring  them  at  the  same 
time  that  the  search  would  be  fruitless. 

"  Come  in,"  said  he,  in  the  true  Texan  way,  "  and  we  will 
have  something  to  eat  and  set  out  immediately — I  will  go 
myself.  You  need  not  even  go  after  your  horses — they  will 
need  rest — and  I  can  mount  you  botlu" 

*•  How  far  is  it  ?'*  asked  Clayton. 

**  Short  twelve  miles,"  said  the  Kanger,  "  we  can  ride  it  easily 
and  be  back  before  *  tattoo.'  Jim,"  he  added,  to  his  lieutenant, 
"  tell  twenty  of  the  boys  to  swallow  their  rations  and  saddle 
up. 

The  officer  went  away  to  obey  the  order,  and  our  friends  sat 
down  to  the  hastily-prepared  luncheon  of  the  Ranger  captain. 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  371 


Soldier's  fate  is  **  rough"  at  the  best,  but  it  has  the  invaluable 
recommendation  of  being  always  **  ready.''  In  twenty  minutes 
they  were  all  in  the  saddle,  trotting  rapidly  through  the  defiles 
of  the  mountains  towards  Rinconada. 

It  was  three  hours  past  noon  when  they  entered  the  valley, 
and  the  shadows  of  the  western  mountains  were  already  falling 
on  the  scene.  The  pines  upon  the  summits  were  tinged  with 
crimson,  and  a  rich  yellow  played  round  the  slopes  and  gilded 
the  mass  upon  the  precipices.  A  filmy  haze  hung  over  the 
lake,  and  in  the  shadows  could  be  seen  long  lines  of  thin,  blue 
smoke,  floating  motionless  against  the  cliiSs.  The  same  air  of 
quiet  repose  still  pervaded  the  valley,  but  deepened  and  more 
solemn,  like  the  silence  of  some  vast  building,  in  which  we 
tread  more  softly  and  are  conscious  of  no  reason.  The  little 
island  rested  on  the  bosom  of  the  waters,  **  like  a  castle  with  its 
moat ;''  but  it  seemed  far  distant  through  the  haze,  and  over  its 
leafy  solitude  a  dreamy  magic  seemed  to  reign.  No  living 
thing  was  visible  within  the  valley ;  but  far  up  the  eastern 
ridge,  dotting  its  green  slopes  with  snow,  were  feeding  flocks  of 
goats,  and  so  transparent  was  the  atmosphere  that  the  form  of 
each  could  be  distinguished  from  the  rest,  as  each  moved  slowly 
up  and  down,  or  sprang  from  rock  to  rock. 

The  horsemen  rode  in  silence  up  the  little  stream,  s^nd  the 
Texan  captain  led  the  way  towards  the  hacienda. 

**  The  valley  seems  deserted,**  said  Allen. 

'*  Something  worse  than  you  have  heard  has  happened,*'  said 
the  Ranger,  and,  spurring  his  horse  forward,  he  and  Vernon 
galloped  round  the  gardens  to  the  front  of  the  house.  It  was  a 
mass  of  blackened  and  still  smoking  ruins'.  The  dome  of  the 
chapel  was  still  standing  and  the  Gothic  window  was  entire ; 


373  TALBOT  AND  Yl^MON. 

but  traces  of  fire  were  visible  even  here ;  and  the  roofe  of 
every  other  part  had  fallen  in  and  lay,  a  pile  of  smoking  rub- 
bish, in  each  room.  Even  the  gates  and  massive  doors  were . 
burned,  and  round  the  whole  circumference  of  the  house  the 
trees  were  scorched  and  withered  by  the  flames.  Even  the 
offices  around  the  court-yards  had  been  consumed ;  the  blacken- 
ed walls  in  many  places  had  fallen  in,  and  from  the  heaps  of 
beams  and  stones  were  slowly  rising  thin  wreaths  and  lines  of 
smoke.  The  whole  place  was  ruined  and  deserted.  Not  a 
human  being  could  be  found,  and  when  the  Rangers  rode  within 
the  court-yard,  the  footsteps  of  their  horses  on  the  pavement 
echoed  from  the  ruined  walls  and  rang  among  the  lonely 
rooms. 

**  Canales  has  been  here,"  said  the  Ranger.  "  I  knew  the 
place  had  been  sacked,  but  I  had  no  idea  of  this  ruin." 

"These  ruins  are  still  smoking, "said  a  Ranger;  "perhaps 
they  may  be  in  the  valley  yet." 

"  That's  not  very  likely,  said  the  captain ;  "  the  devil  takes 
too  good  care  of  his  own  for  that.  But  still  we  will  not  leave 
without  examining.  Come,  boys,"  he  continued,  spurring 
through  the  gateway,  *'  let  us  find  them  if  they're  here." 

The  Rangers  followed  with  the  alacrity  characteristic  of  these 
men  when  in  pursuit  of  an  enemy,  and  the  little  band  rode 
rapidly  towards  the  southern  end  of  the  valley.  The  same 
ruin  was  found  wherever  they  went — every  house  had  been 
burnt,  and  not  a  human  being  could  be  seen.  Even  the  cattle 
had  been  driven  away,  and,  in  some  places,  trees  were  felled 
upon  the  walls  to  break  them  down. 

"  This  looks  like  our  work,  boys,''  said  the  Ranger,  laughing. 
"  These  fellows  have  been  actuated  by  revenge." 


^ 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  373 

"  You  do  not  suppose  Americans  have  done  this  ?"  said 
Allen. 

*'  Oh  I  no !"  said  the  captain  ;  "  but  as  you  go  down  to  the 
Rio  Grande  you  will  find  many  a  place  that  looks  like  this,  and 
every  one  made  so  by  Americans." 

"  Here  is  a  woman,"  exclaimed  one  of  the  men,  pointing  to 
the  right,  "  and  a  grave,  too  I" 

"  It  is  the  wife  of  the  steward  of  the  place,"  said  the  cap- 
tain, as  they  all  rode  under  the  tree  where  she  was  sitting. 
Her  head  was  bowed,  and  one  arm  rested  on  a  new-made 
grave,  on  which  the  sod  was  dry  and  withered.  Upon  this 
tree  her  husband  had  died  ;  here  he  was  buried  ;  and  it  was 
his  grave  over  which  she  was  mourning.  He  had  been  a 
coarse,  tyrannical,  and  jealous  husband  ;  but  he  was  dead,  and 
the  tears  shed  over  his  grave,  were  no  less  tears  of  love.  She 
did  not  look  up  as  the  horsemen  approached,  but  continued 
singing  in  low,  plaintive  tones  a  Spanish  ballad,  whose  story, 
ivhich  I  have  rendered  as  follows,  she  imagined  bore  some  re- 
semblance to  her  own — 

"  Th«  knight  came  pricking  in  armor  bright, 

To  yiiit  his  lady-love  ; 
The  moon  was  sailing  in  silver  light, 

The  fleeting  gray  clouds  above. 
The  wind  was  sighing,  the  boughs  between, 

And  the  leaves  were  rustling  low  ; 
The  light  shone  upward  among  the  green. 

From  the  silv'ry  stream  below. 

The  knight  came  pricking,  and  at  his  back 

Were  riding  his  trusty  band  ; 
They  followed  in  silence  Ms  fiery  track, 

Each  trooper  with  lance  in  hand. 
From  his  horse  in  his  armor  sprang  the  knight, 

To  his  jotge  he  threw  the  rein  ; 


374  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 

And  ke  bMtoned  away  to  hii  lady  bright, 
To  bask  in  her  amile  again. 

The  lady  tat  in  her  bower  green, 
And,  shining  upon  her  face, 

The  moonlight  fell  with  a  silvery  sheen- 
Revealing  the  knight's  diagraee ! 

For  another  tat  at  the  lady's  feet, 
And  his  arm  was  round  her  form  ; 

And  to  him  the  lady  g^yt  kisses  sweet, 
For  embraces  long  and  warm. 

Grew  dark  and  stem,  the  brow  of  the  knight. 

And  the  curl  of  his  haughty  lip. 
And  on  the  hilt  of  his  sabre  bright. 

Fell  his  hand  with  an  angry  grip. 
But  he  turned  away  from  the  guilty  pair, 

And  summoned  his  well-tried  baml ; 
To  his  rival  here,  and  an  oak  tree  there. 

He  pointed  them  with  his  hand. 


He  died  an  ignominious  death— 

The,  tree  is  withering  now  ; 
And  where  he  hung,  the  south  winds  breath. 

Of  its  leaves,  hath  stripped  the  bough. 
By  his  grave  the  lady  weeps  each  day — 

And  she  £sdes  with  the  fading  tree  ; 
And  when  all  of  its  leaves  have  been  wafted  away, 

The  lady  will  oease  to  be." 

She  sang  in  tones  of  exquisite  melancholy,  and  the  humble 
poetry  and  music,  by  the  magic  of  feeling  alone,  sank,  like  a 
strain  from  the  clouds,  into  the  hearts  of  the  strangers.  They 
sat  silently  listening  till  her  song  was  done  ;  and  when  the 
rough  Ranger-captain  broke  the  silence,  the  harsh  tones  of  his 
voice  were  softened  down,  and  in  his  manner  was  visible — rare 
feeling  for  a  Ranger  ! — deep  compassion. 

She  looked  up  a&  be  s^Ve  \a  Vvet^  \>^\.  Avet  ^oLze  was  vacant 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  37^ 


and  meaningless.  Her  face  was  pale  and  haggard,  her  cheeks 
hollow,  and  her  eyes  sunken  ;  but  no  expression  of  intelligence 
or  recognition  lit  her  features.     Her  mind  was  shattered,  and 

its  impressions  broken  and  insane.  The  blow  which  had  thus 
ruined  her  intellect,  had  left  the  impression  of  itself  alone ;  and 
her  sorrow  sat  like  a  spirit  on  her  face.  She  turned  indiffer- 
ently away,  and  again  began  her  chant. 

"  She  is  mad,"  said  the  captain ;  "  but  there  must  be  some 
one  else  near — ^she  certainly  cannot  live  here  alone." 

He  spurred  up  to  the  door  of  a  partially-ruined  rancbo — the 
same  from  which  Melton  had  issued  when  the  steward  was 
hung  by  his  order — ^and  pushed  back  the  half  open  door  with 
his  sword.  An  old  and  wrinkled  face  peered  from  among  the 
broken  ruins ;  a  moment  afterwards  a  short,  swarthy  woman 
came  to  the  door  and  demanded  what  he  wanted,  in  tones  whose 
harshness  well  accorded  with  her  appearance. 

"  Is  there  no  one  else  living  here  but  you  ?"  asked  the  Ran- 
ger. 

"  Si  SeHor"  she  replied,  "  Marina  " 

"  Is  there  no  one  else  in  the  valley  ?" 

**  No  one  else  alive,  Sefior — plenty  dead." 

«*  And  do  you  take  care  of  Marina  V* 

"  She  is  ray  daughter,"  said  the  old  woman,  sharply. 

**  Whose- grave  is  that  ?" 

'*  Her  husband's — murdered  by  the  villian.  Melton," 

"  Who  desolated  the  valley  in  this  way  ?" 

*'  Melton's  and  Urrea's  lancers,  driven  back  fron  Marin,"  said 
the  woman,  and  she  turned  to  re-enter  the  house,  as  if  tired  of 
being  questioned. 

«'  Stop,   Muger''   said  the  Ranger.     "  I  waul  \jo  *VM^\t^ 


376  ALBOT  AND  VERNON. 

about  two  Americans  left  sick  in  the  valley ;  can  you  tell  me 
what  has  become  of  them  ?" 

«*  The  lancers  burnt  the  house  down  over  them,"  said  the 
woman,  adding,  in  a  muttering  tone,  '*  it  was  the  only  righteous 
act  they  did." 

**  And  they  both  perished  in  the  flames  ?" 

"  Si  SehoTt  if  they  were  not  dead  before,"  and  the  pinched 
features  of  the  old  hag  relaxed  into  a  malignant  smile.  The 
fiery  Ranger  raised  his  sword  to  cleave  her  down,  but  Clayton 
arrested  his  arm,  and  Vernon  rode  forward. 

"  Was  one  of  those  who  perished,"  he  asked  of  the  old  wo- 
man, "  a  prisoner  brought  here  by  Colonel  Melton  ?" 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "an  officer  and  a  friend  of  Catharina." 

"  And  where  is  she  ?"  asked  Allen. 

"  Gone  to  Saltillo  with  the  Sefiora,"  said  the  woman. 

"  That  is  her  aunt,"  said  the  captain,  and  the  woman  ab- 
ruptly entered  the  house,  and  refused  sullenly  to  answer  more. 

The  party  rode  silently  back  to  the  principal  ruin,  and 
searched  it  thoroughly  for  any  remains  of  those  who  had  perish- 
ed so  miserably ;  but  after  an  hour  thus  spent,  they  were  con- 
vinced that  the  bodies  had  been  consumed,  or  so  buried  in  the 
ruins  that  it  would  be  impossible  to  find  them.  Allen  and 
Clayton,  seconded  by  all  the  Rangers,  narrowly  examined  every 
part  of  the  huge  pile — but  entirely  without  success. ' 

•*  After  all,"  said  the  Ranger,  **  this  story  of  the  woman  may 
be  false — she  may  cmly  have  told  us  so  to  pain  us.  The  few 
Mexican  women  who  do  hate  us,  make  up  by  the  fervor  and 
refinement  of  their  hatred  for  their  small  numbers — and  this 
woman  was  far  more  likely  to  be  actuated  by  that  feeling  than 
by  a  desire  to  tell  the  truth." 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  377 


«*  Yet,"  said  Allen,  "  her  story  is  probable  ;  because  we  know 
that  both  these  men  were  unable  to  escape  without  help." 

"  True,"  replied  the  Ranger ;  "  but,  at  all  events,  we  have 
done  all  we  can.     It  is  time  to  return." 

Reluctantly,  Clayton  and  Vernon  consented  to  abandon  the 
search,  though  its  continuance  promised  no  good  result.  They 
rode  rapidly  out  of  the  valley,  and  about  two  hours  after  dark 
re-entered  Monterey.  Parting  from  the  Texans  with  many 
expressions  of  gratitude  and  good  will,  they  sought  their  quar- 
ters. On  the  second  day  after  this  they  joined  the  escort  for 
Camargo,  and  were  on  their  journey  homeward. 


End  of  Book  in. 


BOOK   FOURTH. 


CHAPTER    I. 

**  Thej  praiie,  and  they  admire  they  know  not  what, 
And  know  not  whom,  but  a«  one  leada  the  other."— Paraoiib  Rxojuhcd. 

*^  When  loyem  meet  in  adverse  hour, 
'Ti>  like  a  sun-glimpse  through  a  shower, 
A  watery  ray,  an  instant  seen, 
Then  darkly  closing  clouds  between."— Rokkbt. 

Time  and  change  are  synonymous — not  in  terms  alone,  but 
in  substance  and  effect ;  and  the  succession  or  progress  of  exis- 
tence, each  moment  of  which  is  marked  and  perceived  by  a 
change,  is  not  only  all  that  makes  the  lapse  of  time  perceptible, 
but  is  actually  the  lapse  of  time  itself.  Time,  as  we  use  the 
word,  is  a  mere  abstraction — there  is  no  such  thing  ;  it  is  only 
the  gradation  of  occurrences,  or  of  ideas,  which  we  so  name. 
If  that  gradation  should  cease,  we  would  lose  the  idea  of  time 
altogether — ^we  could  have  no  more  conception  of  it  than  a 
blind  man  has  of  colors.  A  man's  life  is  not  measured  by  time. 
His  term  of  existence  is  only  an  appointed  succession  of  events, 
or  thoughts,  one  succeeding  another  in  what  we  call  order  of 
time ;  and.when  all  the  events  or  thoughts  are  exhausted,  or 
have  occurred,  like  the  grains  of  sand  in  an  hour-glass,  his  life 
is  at  an  end,  and  for  him  time  has  ceased. 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  379 


Change,  too,  in  this  world  is  not  only  progressive,  but  lateral 
and  incidental  also— for  so  abhorrent  is  monotony  to  Nature, 
that  she  will  not  even  have  an  unbroken  succession  of  changes. 
We  measure  what  we  call  time  by  the  regular  occurrence  of 
one  day  after  another ;  the  sun  rises  every  morning  and  sets  every 
evening.  But,  though  it  would  have  been  just  as  easy  to  have 
created  the  universe  in  such  a  manner,  as  chat  his  position  should 
not  vary  from  day  to  day — and  though,  from  aught  we  know, 
this  arrangement  would  have  been  just  as  good  as  the  present 
— yet  we  see  that,  even  in  this,  there  is  allowed  no  monotony. 
Change  is,  therefore,  a  condition  of  the  existence  of  the  universe 
— if  mutation  should  cease,  the  universe  could  no  longer  exist. 
And  so  with  man :  should  the  mutations,  which  constitute 
what  he  calls  time,  at  any  stage  of  their  progress,  terminate,  his 
existence  would  end,  not  as  a  consequence  merely,  but  ipso  facto 
— ^just  as,  when  all  the  sand  has  left  the  glass,  it  ceases  to  run, 
not  as  a  consequence  of  its  exhaustion,  but  because  the  ex- 
haustion and  the  ceasing  are  one  fact. 

If,  then,  time  and  change  are  not  only  necessarily  connected, 
but  are  one  and  the  same,  it  follows,  that  there  can  be  no  pause 
in  the  existence,  not  only  of  a  man,  but  even  of  the  inanimate 
and  apparently  unchanging  creation.  Even  the  granite  rock, 
frowning  from  the  mountain  side,  to  which  we  would  think  a 
thousand  years  to  be  as  one  day,  must  obey  the  law  of  its  ex- 
istence— its  particles  must  indurate  or  soften,  by  the  action  of 
the  winds  or  rains,  be  modified  by  the  vicissitudes  of  its  own 
nature — it  must  cover  itself  with  a  mantle  of  moss,  sink  deeper 
in  its  bed  of  rocks,  or  loosen  itself,  and  bound  headlong  to  the 
plain.  Decay,  too,  is  only  another  phase  of  change,  another 
variation  of  what  we  call  time.     The  progress  oi  e:L\sX^Xie;^ 


380  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


from  its  beginning  to  its  close,  is  but  a  circle  of  events,  ending 
where  it  began. 

The  shortest  absence  is  long  enough  to  change  everything 
we  have  left ;  and  our  return  can  find  nothing  as  we  left  it. 
We  may  not  see  the  difference,  it  may  be  perceptible  to  God 
alone ;  and  yet  we  may  be  certain  that  for  us  the  universal  law 
has  not  been  suspended.  Sometimes  we  do  see  the  change 
— old,  familiar  places  ruined  for  us  by  another's  taste,  old 
friends  gone  to  their  slumbers,  and  loving  hearts  estranged. 
And  it  is  in  these  forms  that  the  law  of  change  appears  most 
cruel.  If  the  presence  and  affection  of  those  who  loved  us,  and 
the  places  that  we  loved  be  left  us,  we  can  bear  all  else. 

Vernon  had  at  last  returned ;  and  the  moment  to  which  he 
had  looked  forward  as  the  happiest  in  his  life,  was  bitter  as 
death.  He  had  gone  away  honored  and  envied,  with  fair 
prospects  in  life  and  a  name  still  more  fair :  he  returned  with  a 
name  blighted  by  calumny,  prospects  nipped  in  the  bud,  and 
none  even  to  envy  him.  To  him  the  law  of  change  was  hard 
indeed  I  But  to  him,  also,  tlrere  was  a  compensation — ^for  in 
the  places  he  had  loved  he  could  see  no  change,  and  those  who 
had  loved  him,  now  loved  him  more.  His  summer  friends  had 
fallen  off  like  leaves  in  the  early  frosts  of  autumn,  and  the  blast 
of  calumny  had  blown  them  away.  Many  who  had  envied 
now  affected  to  pity  him,  and  still  more,  who  had  been  his 
friends  while  his  friendship  was  worth  something  in  the.  world, 
now  railed  at  his  iniquity,  and  were  the  louder  in  their  dennn- 
cialions  because  they  had  been  "  taken  in.**  Some  whom  he 
had  shunned,  and  many  who  had  never  known  him  even  by 
sight,  now  declared  lYvaX  iVv^'^  Ivad  always  suspected  him.  It 
surprised  even  some  oi  Yi\s  eiiewi\fe%,  \.ci  ^'\s.^qs^\  Xv^^n  ^^wocal 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  381 


a  reputation  he  had  always  had,  and  in  the  general  storm  his 

friends  were  almost  silenced.     A  few,  only,  dared  to  say  they 

believed  bim  innocent,  and  their  own  characters  suffered  not  a 

little  in  consequence.     Society,  like  a  herd  of  wild  buffaloes, 

was  running  in  a  fixed  direction  ;  and  they  would  overrun  and 

crush  everything  that  lay  in  their  way.  At  another  time,  perhaps, 

the  same  amount  of  evidence,  upon  which  they  now  condemned 

him,  and  which  rendered  his  former  good  character  nugatory, 

or  even  a  disadvantage,  would  have  satisfied  them  that  he  was 

slandered,  persecuted,  the  victim  of  an  infamous  plot — all  the 

circumstances  of  improbability  surrounding  the  charge,  would 

have  been  remembered,  magnified,  commented  on  and  adjudged 

conclusive  of  his  innocence — his  uniform  good  character  would 

not  have  been  forgotten,  his  exemplary  support  of  his  father, 

_^     (the  very  purpose  for  which  this  money  was  borrowed,)  his 

^    praiseworthy  and  unmurmuring  labor,   all  would  have  been 

■^    recalled,  he  would  have  been  pronounced  innocent,  persecut- 

£     ed,  and  forthwith  been   "lionized."      But  now,  it  happened 

5     that  society  was  not  in  a  very  good  humor.     As  the  school- 

f     master,  who,  with  aching  head  and  puzzled  brain,  has  tolerated 

the  confusion  among  his  pupils  as  long  as  human  patience 

can  endure,  at  last  rises  in  wrath,  and  flogs  the  first  he  catches  ; 

so  society,  having  been  blind  and  complacent  as  long  as  its 

patience  would  last,  now  rose  for  a  victim,  and  was  determined 

soundly  to  punish  the  first  it  might  catch,  innocent  or  guilty. 

Vernon  happened  to  be  the  unlucky  individual — for  (may  I  be 

forgiven  the  heresy!)  there  is  "  luck"  even  in  popular  opinion. 

But  we  have  said  there  was  a  number,  small  indeed,  but  all 

the  better  for  that,  who  persisted  obstinately  in  believing  AUew 

innocent.     Id  some  measure,  these  shared   his  obloqvxy  \  lot. 


3g2  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 

from  a  mere  smile  of  incredulity,  when  first  told  that  certain 
persons  did  not  beUeve  him  guilty,  the  prosecuting  party  soon 
came  to  be  **  astonished  at"  them.  Now,  this  phrase  is  like  a 
certain  other  word  used  among  the  slanderous — "  imprudence*' 
— which  means  anything,  from  the  wearing  of  a  thin  shoe  in 
wet  weather,  to  downright  jurostitution  :  it  is  capable  of  any  in- 
terpretation which  may  be  chosen^  according  to  the  character 
of  the  hearer.  It  has  also  two  advantages,  which  the  other 
has,  also — its  intangiblity  and  its  capapility  of  expressing  what 
the  speaker  does  not  feel,  in  such  a  manner  as  to  gain  him  the 
credit  of  sincerity.  To  be  "  astonished  at''  one  for  not  believ- 
ing in  the  guilt  of  another,  may  mean,  "  I  am  surprised  that 
his  good  sense  does  not  at  once  see  his  guilt  ;**  or  it  may  mean« 
"  I  am  surprised  to  find  that  he  has  so  strong  a  sympathy  with 
vice  or  crime  ;**  and  it  may  mean  anything  between  these  two 
extremes.  What  a  happy  thing  it  is,  that  society  has  flexible 
terms  at  command,  which  express  the  very  worst,  and  yet  inenr 
no  responsibility ! 

So  people  were  "astonished  at''  Allen's  friends,  and  if  some* 
thing  could  not  be  done  to  stem  the  tide,  the  time  seemed  ap- 
proaching when  both  Allen  and  his  friends  would  be  included 
in  the  same  category.  Various  means  were  suggested  to  divert 
public  attention,  to  allay  the  excitement  and  mitigate  public  in- 
dignation. But  none  of  them  would  answer.  Could  they  have 
discovered  a  "  horrible  murder,"  or  imported  a  foreigner  with 
moustachios,  they  might  have  had  some  hope — could  they  have 
gotten  an  opera  dancer,  a  little  more  shameless  than  the  rest- 
could  they  even  have  introduced  a  company  of  "  model  artists," 
(under,  of  course,  the  respectable  programme  of  *<  tableaux 
vivarUes")  the  herds  of  the  city  wilderness  would  have  been 


\ 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  383 

turned  another  way,  and  Vernon  saved  a  world  of  abuse.  But  no- 
thing of  the  kind  could  be  produced.  The  season  was,  moreover, 
dull,  and  people  actually  had  nothing  else  to  talk  about.  And, 
besides,  the  forgery  (if  any  had  been  committed)  was  committed 
by  a  needy  man  upon  two  wealthy  ones,  who  each  had  thou- 
sands to  throw  away,  and,  of  course,  it  could  not  be  forgiven. 
Had  the  case  been  reversed,  and  the  money  swindled  by  the 
rich  man  from  the  needy »  the  "  public  opinion"  would  have 
been,  that  he  was  "  a  shrewd  fellow ;"  and  a  shrug  of  the 
shoulders,  and  a  meaning,  half-approving  smile,  would  have 
been  the  only  commentary  on  the  villainy.  And  in  this  honest 
complacence,  the  poor  themselves  would  have  joined  with 
others ;  not  a  few  would  have  envied  the  swindler  his  good 
fortune,  and  all  would  have  bowed  to  him ;  he  would  have 
been  made  President  of  the  Board  of  Trustees  for  Charitable 
Institutions,  while  men  of  talent  and  qualification  would  have 
been  placed  below  him  at  the  council  table.  But  here  the 
case  was  different ;  the  poor  had  robbed  the  rich,  and,  of 
cowrse,  the  oiffence  was  beyond  forgiveness.  People  were 
'<  astonished  at"  you,  if  you  doubted  the  guilt  of  the  accused  ; 
and  to  attempt  to  bring  another  ov^  to  your  way  of  thinking, 
was  an  o£fence  almost  as  bad  as  heresy. 

Notwithstanding  all  this  stormy  weather,  there  were  a  few 
•who  still  held  steadily  to  their  friendship— whom  nothing  could 
convince  of  his  guilt,  and  who  bade  fair  to  have  people  "  as- 
tonished at"  them  till  the  end  of  time.  Among  these,  and,  as 
the  reader  might  divine,  among  the  warmest,  was  Cara  Talbot, 
whom  no  evidence  could  convince  and  no  storm  shake ;  and  to 
her  we  will  now  return. 

On  a  bright  sunny  morning  early  in  April,  she  was  walking 


384  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 

thoughtfully  up  and  down  the  richly-furnished  room,  where  her 
first  interview  with  Allen  had  taken  place  at  her  father's  house. 
The  sun  shone  warmly  upon  the  crimson  curtains  which  cover- 
ed the  tall  window,  and  cast  a  tender,  rosy  light  within  the 
room,  tinging  everything  with  colors  more  lovely,  and  making 
Cara's  face  and  hands  still  more  like  veined  marble.  The  rosy 
tints  of  sunlight  shaded  by  crimson,  were  even  more  remark- 
able than  usual,  and  some  undiscovered  affinity  between  it  and 
the  veins  of  the  human  frame,  made  her  skin  more  transparent, 
and  brought  out,  as  it  were,  the  blue  lines  upon  her  gracefol 
neck  and  exquisite  hands.  She  seemed  changed,  but  for  the 
better — the  slight  appearance  of  levity,  which  we  noticed  in 
her  manner  before,  was  now  entirely  gone  ;  and  without  mat 
ing  her  decidedly  grave,  or  destroying  the  volatility  of  her  fea- 
tures, had  left  her  thoughtful  though  serene.  There  was  a 
deep  light  in  her  eye,  probably  deepened  by  the  prevailing  tint 
of  the  room ;  and  an  eager  though  subdued  expression  about 
her  lip,  which  denoted  expectation.  At  every  turn  she  stopped 
and  gazed  at  the  picture  of  "  the  sunset,"  which  hung  where 
Allen  had  placed  it,  illumined  by  the  red  light  of  the  morning, 
and  mellowed  into  almost  deceptive  colors  by  the  shadows. 
The  other  accompaniments  of  her  retirement  were  the  same 
that  we  have  seen  them — the  prevailing  color  beautifully  con- 
trasting with  the  pure  white  of  her  loose  morning  costume.  A 
book  of  drawings  lay  open  on  the  table  near  the  window,  and 
on  one  page  might  be  seen  a  miniature  in  water  colors  preserv- 
ing the  features  of  her  lover  ;  on  the  opposite  lay  several  sheets 
of  fine  note  paper  and  a  pen,  with  which  she  had  been  writing. 
She  passed  several  times  across  the  room,  and  her  light  and 
graceful  form  swept  noiaeVes&Vj  ON^t  \\va  xviV  ^ia.x^eting  beneath 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  385 


her  feet ;  several  times  she  stopped  and  gazed,  with  folded 
arms,  upon  the  miniature,  and  now  and  then  she  raised  the 
curtain  and  gazed  out  upon  the  busy  street  beneath.  A  step 
was  heard  upon  the  stairs,  and  her  eye  lit  up  with  a  still 
warmer  light.  She  hastily  closed  the  portfolio,  and  advanced  a 
Step  or  two  towards  the  door.  It  opened,  and  her  father  en- 
tered. Her  eye  fell  to  the  floor  in  disappointment,  and  she 
listlessly  sank  iuto  a  seat.  He  whom  she  had  been  expecting 
was  not  before  her,  and  even  the  appearance  of  her  father 
could  not  prevent  her  feeling  the  difference.  He  closed  the 
door  quietly,  and  crossing  the  room,  seated  himself  beside  hier, 
and  took  her  hand. 

"  My  daughter,"  he  commenced  affectionately,  though  the 
affection  could  not  wholly  overcome  the  somewhat  pompous 
dignity  of  his  manner,  "  I  have,  for  some  time,  been  wishing  to 
converse  with  you  upon  a  serious  subject." 

"  Upon  what  subject,  father  V* 

"  About  young  Mr.  Vernon.  He  has  now  returned,  and  it  is 
tim^we  should  understand  each  other." 

"  I  thought  we  did  so,  father,  some  time  since,"  she  said. 

««  So  we  did,"  he  replied.  "  But  I  told  you  then  that  I  hoped 
you  w^ould,  before  his  return,  see  the  folly  of  your  course,  or, 
at  all  events,  would  see  the  propriety  of  holding  no  intercourse 
with  him  for  the  present." 

"Father,"  she  replied,  firmly,  "I  told  you  then,  and  I  am 

ready  to  repeat,  that,  could  I  be  convinced  of  his  guilt,  no  one 

-w^ould  spurn  him  away  sooner  than  I ;  but  I  cannot  consent,  so 

long  as  I  believe  him  innocent,  to  treat  him  as  if  I  thought 

him  guilty.     Independently  of  my  private  feelings — were  the^ 

no  more  than  the  merest  friendship — ^nothing  on  earlVi  b\x\.  con- 
i/ 


386  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


viction  of  the  criminality  would   induce  me   to  change  my 


course." 


"  But,  my  daughter,  it  is  of  your  course  in  obstinately  per- 
sisting in  the  belief  that  he  is  innocent,  after  he  has  been  proven 
guilty,  that  I  complain.  Unless  you  think  me  perjured,  you 
can  believe  nothing  else." 

**  Far  be  it  from  me  to  even  dream  such  a  thing,  for  a  moment  I" 
she  exclaimed ;  "  and  fortunately  there  is  no  such  alternative. 
I  am  sure  that  vv^hat  you  say  is  true — that  you  never  signed  the 
note — ^but  I  am  equally  sure  that  Allen  Vernon  did  not  sign  it 
either." 

"  Then  who  did  ?"  asked  her  father. 

"That,"  said  she, ''I  cannot  tell — I  only  know  Vernon  did 


not." 


"  I  hope,"  said  Talbot,  "  he  may  be  able  to  establish  his  in- 
nocence; but  it  is  impossible." 

"  Would  he  ever  have  returned  if  he  had  been  guilty,"  she 
argued. 

"  He  knew  nothing  of  the  charge  against  him,"  saidHier 
father ;  "  and  no  doubt  was  hurried  back,  by  the  hope  of  being 
able  to  take  up  the  note,  before  the  discovery  of  the  forgery." 

"  You  are  mistaken,"  said  Cara  ;  "  I  myself  wrote  to  him  a 
full  statement  of  his  position,  and  I  know  he  received  the  letter, 
because  only  yesterday  I  received  his  answer." 

**  You  I  you  wrote  to  him  I"  exclaimed  Talbot. 

J*  I  did,  father— I  wrote  to  him  to  hasten  home,  and  at  once 
to  meet  the  charge,  and  like  an  innocent  man,  as  he  is,  he  has 


come." 


The  old  man  was  surprised  and  grjevjgd — top  much  grieved 
to  reply,  and  Cara  went  on — 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  387 


"  I  am  sorry  to  grieve  you  thus,  father,"  she  said,  and  threw 
her  arms  about  his  neck ;  "  but  I  cannot  believe  him  guilty. 
You  do  not  know  him,  indeed  you  do  not,  or  you  would  be  as 
sure  of  his  innocence  as  I  am.  You  are  blinded  by  fallacious 
evidence.  If  he  were  guilty — if  he  coicld  be  guilty — father,  I 
would  despise  him  as  you  do.  Forgive  me,  father,  I  cannot, 
cannot  believe  it!" 

"  Do  you  suppose,"  said  he  drawing  his  arms  away,  and 
angrily  pushing  her  from  him,  **  Dare  you  suppose  that,  even  if 
he  should  succeed  in  avoiding  the  punishment  due  him,  I  would 
ever  allow  you  to  see  him  again?" 

"  You  may  exert  your  authority,  father,"  she  said  faintly, 
-while  the  tears  rolled  down  her  cheeks ;  *'  I  shall  not  question 
that — ^at  least  while  it  lasts — but  you  can  never  convince  me  of 
his  guilt." 

"  While  it  lasts  !"  he  exclaimed.  "  What  do  you  mean  by 
that  ?" 

She  attempted  to  throw  herself  again  upon  his  neck,  but  he 
puihed  her  angrily  back.  She  gazed  into  his  flashing  eyes  for 
a  moment,  with  an  expression  of  mingled  sorrow  and  reproach. 
Grently  disengaging  her  arm  from  his  grasp,  she  rose  and  walked 
to  the  window,  sobbing  as  if  her  heart  were  breaking.  Her 
father  sat  as  if  confused  by  his  own  violence.  He  was  about 
to  go  to  her,  when  the  door  was  opened  ;  a  servant  announced 
"  Mr.  Vernon,"  and  Allen  walked  quietly  into  the  room.  The 
old  man*s  wrath  exploded  at  once. 

"  How  dare  you  enter  my  door,  sir  I"  he  exclaimed,  and 
made  a  step  forward,  as  if  to  thrust  him  out.  But  Cara  came 
forward  and  interposed,  frankly  giving  Allen  her  hand. 

**He}s  here,  father/' she  eaid,  "by  my  invilatioii,  wA  \)cl^ 


388  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


weight  of  your  anger  must  fall  upon  me.     I  have  a  communi- 
cation to  make  to  him»  which  is  essential  to  his  defence/' 

"  I  should  certainly  not  have  intruded  my  presence/'  said 
Allen,  **  where  it  is  not  welcome ;  and  so  soon,  sir,  as  I  am  at 
liberty  to  do  so,  I  will  leave  you.  I  would  have  been  glad  to 
have  some  conversation  with  you,  also,  in  order  to  my  defence, 
but  I  perceive  you  have  prejudged  me." 

"I  believe  nothing  except  upon  evidence,"  said  Talbot 
haughtily. 

"  I  hope  to  give  you  evidence  of  my  innocence,"  said  Allen, 
«  at  some  future  time ;  for  the  present,  I  can  only  ask  a  suspen- 
sion of  your  opinion  until  I  shall  have  had  a  hearing." 

**  That's  nothing  but  just !  at  all  events,"  said  he  moiQ 
coolly,  perhaps  seeing  that  no  good  end  was  to  be  gained  by 
violence;  perhaps,  also,  impressed,  as  every  ignorant  man 
always  is,  by  the  confident  tone  assumed  by  Allen.  **  There 
has  been  bad  blood  between  your  father  and  me,"  he  continued, 
"  but  no  one  would  rejoice  more  sincerely  than  I  to  be  con- 
vinced of  your  innocence." 

"  For  the  present,"  said  Allen  proudly,  "  I  will  not  even  give 
you  my  assurance  of  it ;  but  if  I  fail  to  establish  it  before  a 
jury  of  ray  country,  I  shall  be  content  to  be  branded  as  a  felon." 

"  Have  you  any  evidence  ?"  he  inquired,  eagerly. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  say,  but  little,"  answered  Allen ;  "  but  T  have 
confidence  in  the  ultimate  triumph  of  the  right.  I  feel  my  in- 
nocence, and  I  do  not  believe  I  shall  be  abandoned  by  Provi- 
dence." 

"  Providence  is  not  sworn  as  a  witness  in  our  courts,"  said 
he,  with  a  coarse  attempt  at  a  jest.     A  reproachful  look  from 
bia  daughter  checked  Yua  \\\-t.vavft^  m\tv\i. 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  389 

"  Sit  down,"  said  Cara,  pointing  to  a  seat,  "  and  I  will  give 
you  the  information  I  pro^mised  you." 

"  I  will  take  it  standing  if  you  will  allow  me,"  said  Allen. 

"Well,"  said  Talbot,  recovering  his  self-possession,  "1  am 
glad  to  see  that  you  know  what  is  proper.  You  may  be  able 
to  establish  your  innocence,  and,  as  I  said  before,  no  man  would 
rejoice  more  than  I  would  ;  but  I  must  say,  that  until  you  do 
so — 

"  You  interdict  my  intercourse  with  your  daughter,"  inter- 
rupted Allen.  "  You  are  right,  sir — ^I  cannot  blame  you — and 
you  may  depend  upon  my  not  violating  propriety  in  that  way, 
at  all  events." 

"  Then  I  will  bid  you  a  very  good  morning,"  said  the  colo- 
nel ;"  and  he  went  out,  probably  seeing  that  his  presence  only 
lengthened  the  visit,  since  Cara  did  not  seem  disposed  to  speak 
while  he  remained. 

"  I  understand  your  feelings,  Vernon,"  said  she,  as  soon  as 
her  father  was  gone,  "  and  will  not  detain  you.  T  sent  for  you 
to  give  you  this  paper  in  the  hope  that  it  may  be  of  value  to 
you." 

She  handed  him  the  note  left  for  him  by  her  fother  on  the 
morning  of  the  forgery,  which  the  reader  will  recollect  she 
found  on  the  floor  soon  after  Thorpe  had  left  her.  Allen  read 
it  over. 

"  How  did  you  get  this?"  he  asked. 

"  It  was  dropped  here  by  Morris  Thorpe,  I  think,  on  the  very 
day  on  which  the  forgery  is  said  to  have  been  committed." 

"  Morris  Thorpe  ?"  said  Allen,  thoughtfully.  "  Morris 
Thorpe  ?"  And  a  thousand  things  flashed  through  his  mind  at 
once — Hugh  Manning's  hints,  CJay toil's  suspicions  oi  TVioi^^^^ 


390  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


agency  in  the  attack  upon  them  in  the  desert,  the  fact  that 
Hugh  must  have  been  present  when  this  note  was  written, — 
these  and  a  thousand  other  things  passed  through  his  mind  at 
once.  He  might  not  be  able  to  convince  a  jury  that  his  sus- 
picion  was  correct,  but  he  for  the  first  time  suspected  the  wily 
lawyer.  Another  circumstance  occurred  to  him — Thorpe  had 
most  unaccountably  resigned  his  office  in  the  army  and  was  now, 
no  one  knew  why,  at  home  again.  Still,  there  was  lacking  a 
link  in  the  chain — he  was  unable  to  divine  the  motive — that  in- 
dispensable element  in  all  human  action. 

"  You  seem  thoughtful,"  said  Cara. 

"  I  scarcely  know  what  to  think  of  this,"  he  replied. 

"  Will  it  be  of  any  service  in  your  defence  ?"  she  asked, 
eagerly. 

"I  hope  so,  I  hope  so,"  he  answered,  '•  but  I  cannot  at  pre- 
sent see  how.  At  all  events  I  must  now  leave  you.  And, 
Cara — we  may  not  meet  again,  nay,  we  toill  not  meet  again, 
until  after  my  trial ;  and  if  I  should  fail  in  establishing  my  in* 
nocence,  not  even  then.     Shall  we  not  part  so  ?" 

As  he  spoke  he  extended  his  arms,  and  she  threw  herself  at 
once  into  them. 

"  I  know  you  will  not  fail  I"  she  exclaimed. 

"  I  hope  so,  dearest,"  he  answered,  and  their  lips  met  for  the 
first  time.  He  slowly  relaxed  his  embrace  ;  she  looked  up  and 
her  eyes  were  sufi"used  with  tears ;  but  he  turned  resolutely 
away  and  left  the  house. 


C  HAPTE  R    II. 

<<yirtae  itself  tarns  yice,  being  misapplied.— Romeo  and  Julibt. 

"  For  whom  he  could  not  kill  he  practised  to  entrap."— Spenceb. 

"  Experience  does  take  dreadfully  high  school-wages ;  but  he  teaches  like  no 
other. — Carltle." 

"  How  courtesy  would  seem  to  cover  sin  !  — Pericles. 

Vernon's  feelings  on  leaving  Colonel  Talbot's  are  more 
easily  imagined  than  described.  The  first  ray  of  light  that  had 
shone  in  upon  him  for  a  very  long  time,  had  been  given  him 
there — for  the  first  time  he  began  to  understand  how  it  was 
possible  for  him  to  escape  the  accumulated  testimony  against 
him.  But  there,  also,  he  had  been  forbidden  to  hold  any  inter- 
course with  her,  from  whom  being  separated  was  the  severest 
penalty  yet  attached  to  his  unfortunate  position.  He  had  seen 
her  for  a  moment,  only  to  bid  her  farewell — he  had  been  per- 
mitted to  look  through  the  open  gate  of  paradise,  only  to  make 
more  cruel  his  banishment — and  it  may  be  doubted  whether 
this  prohibition,  though  it  only  compelled  him  to  a  course  which 
he  would  have  adopted  without  it,  was  not  more  bitter  than 
even  the  false  and  malicious  charge  upon  which  it  was  based. 
We  have  seen,  however,  that  he  had  a  heart  whose  moral 
courage  was  not  easily  depressed ;  and  in  this  trial  it  stood  him 
in  good  stead.  When  he  thought  of  the  possibility  thus  opened 
to  him,  of  clearing  his  name  of  a  foul  stain,  and  establishing  his 


392  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


innocence  in  the  face  of  the  world,  his  eye  brightened,  and  his 
carriage  became  more  erect — for  before  that  time,  notwithstand 
ing  his  conscious  innocence,  the  knowledge  that  he  was  a 
marked  man,  that  every  eye  was  upon  him  as  a  felon,  had  de- 
pressed and  reduced  him.  It  is  all  very  well  to  talk  about  con- 
scious rectitude — to  say  that  it  sustains  and  consoles  us  under 
the  ban  of  society  ;  but,  though  we  be  as  pure  as  the  snow 
upon  the  highest  peak  of  the  Andes,  if  we  cannot  make  others 
believe  it — if  the  world  around  us,  whose  good  opinions  God 
has  made  us  to  respect  and  covet,  will  not  credit  oiif  innocence 
— our  hearts  must  be  strong,  indeed,  if  we  can  find  adequate 
consolation  in  the  reflection.  Nay,  a  man  cannot  be  innocent, 
and  at  the  same  time  careless  of  what  others  may  believe  ;  and 
the  strongest  moral  evidence  of  a  man's  guilt,  is  to  see  him 
brave  public  opinion  with  a  reckless  and  defiant  calmness. 
Only  the  consciousness  that  no  injustice  is  done  by  the  suspi- 
cions that  attach  to' us,  can  give  such  composure  ;  for  as  it  is  a 
part  of  man's  nature  to  love  justice,  so  it  is  equally  his  nature, 
and  nothing  but  guilt  can  change  it,  to  rebel  against  and  feel 
agrieved  and  humbled  by  injustice. 

Vernon  was  not  guilty ;  had  he  been  so,  his  strong,  firm 
heart  would  have  exhibited  the  same  phenomena,  which  iron 
nerves  always  manifest  in  the  guilty.  An  air  of  conscious  rec- 
titude, so  often  quoted  in  newspapers,  and  triumphantly  re- 
ferred to  by  lawyers  in  their  addresses  to  juries,  as  proofs  of 
what  it  simulates,  is  the  most  deceptive  of  all  the  appearances 
that  hardened  guilt  draws  around  it  to  escape  punishment ;  the 
drooping  head  and  troubled  eye,  far  oftener  denote  innocence 
than  conscious  guilt.  The  man  who  can  hold  himself  erect,  . 
and  boldly  brave  the  Beiil\mexi\.  ol  ^  e,\Q^^  q€  men,  among 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  393 


whom  he  knows  he  has  no  sympathy,  even  though  he  may  not 
be  guilty  of  the  crime  charged  upon  him,  proves,  by  his  very 
bearing,  that  he  is  capable  of  the  wickedness,  and  may,  at 
some  future  time,  be  guilty.  Carlyle  says,  "  there  is  a  majesty 
in  the  roar  of  a  multitude,"  which  few  men  can  brave ;  and 
there  is  a  principle  of  our  nature,  which  makes  it  imperative 
upon  us  to  respect,  and  be  appalled  by,  an  universal  condem- 
nation. Vernon  had  none  of  this  false  courage ;  for  he  had, 
(strange  as  the  expression  may  seem,)  no  guilt  to  sustain  him. 
He  was  humbled  by  the  thought  that  he  lay  under  a  cloud  of 
suspicion,  which  he  had  no  means  of  dispelling.  But  when 
hope  was  given  him — when  he  began  to  fancy  that  he  would 
be  able  to  vindicate  his  innocence  before  the  world,  his  eye 
brightened  and  his  step  became  more  erect — he  began  to 
think  once  more  of  taking  his  place  among  his  fellowmen.  He 
had  an  appointment  to  meet  Clayton  and  another  lawyer,  a 
Mr.  Carlin,  at  the  office  of  the  former,  for  the  purpose  of  ar- 
ranging his  defence ;  and  he  now  hurried  thither  with  a  buoy- 
ant step,  and  a  look  brighter  than  he  had  worn  for  many  a 
day. 

As  he  entered  he  found  the  lawyers  already  met  and  waiting 
for  him.  Clayton  we  have  already  described.  His  companion 
was  a  man  of  herculean  mould  and  massive  features.  A  dark 
gray  eye  and  bushy  eyebrows  gave  the  character  to  his  face, 
and  contrasted  singularly  with  his  broad  white  forehead,  from 
which  the  short  gray  hair  seemed  to  have  been  painfully 
brushed  up.  A  lar^  nose  and  wide  mouth,  surmotinting  a 
heavy  chin,  and  set  oflf  by  strong  white  teeth,  completed  a 
physiognomy  remarkable  for  both  energy  and  penetration.  A 
short  grizzled  whisker  contributed  not  a  little  to  the  exptessvon 


394  TALBOT  Am>  VERNON. 

of  cmming,  and  assisted  in  counteracting  the  impression  of 
heaviness,  which  a  superficial  observer  would  have  received. 
He  was  dressed  in  a  suit  of  plain  black,  fitting  him  by  no 
means  closely  or  neatly ;  and  yet,  singularly  enough,  there  was 
a  kind  of  jauntiness  and  air  of  the  fine  gentleman  in  his  appear- 
ance, which  might  have  led  many  to  underrate  his  character. 
His  boots  were  highly  polished  and  of  the  most  approved 
fashion ;  his  cravat  was  tied  with  scrupulous  neatness,  and  a 
standing  collar,  of  unexceptionable  whiteness,  flanked  his 
strong  features ;  while  his  shirt  bosom,  through  the  folds  of 
which  could  be  seen  a  rich  ruffle  of  the  finest  material,  was  ar- 
ranged with  decided  attention  to  smoothness  and  effect.  He 
was  lighting  a  cigar  when  Allen  entered,  and  exhibited  some- 
what ostentatiously  as  he  did  so,  a  diamond  ring  of  great  price, 
upon  the  little  finger  of  his  left  hand.  But  in  his  manners 
there  was  nothing  of  this  pretension.  He  shook  Allen  cor- 
dially and  easily  by  the  hand,  and  greeted  him  in  a  voice  of 
remarkable  richness  and  volume,  but  without  clap-trap  or 
effort. 

*'  You  are  a  little  before  your  time,"  said  Clayton.     "  We 
hardly  expected  you  so  soon,  knowing  whither  you  had  gone." 

"  He  went  for  a  purpose,  perhaps,"  said  Carlin,  "  and  hav- 
ing accomplished  it,  came  away." 

"  I  accomplished  the  object  for  which  I  went,  certainly," 
said  Allen ;  **  and  I  hope  it  may  be  of  service  to  us." 

"  Well,  let  us  to  business,  then,"  said  Carlin,  drawing  a  chair 
to  the  table.     "  What  news  of  the  papeit  ?" 

"  I  have  it  here,"  answered  Allen,  producing  the  note  which 
he  had  just  received  from  Cara.     The  two  lawyers  examined  it 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  395 

attentively,  turning  it  over  and  over,  and  scanning  each  letter 
as  if  they  suspected  another  forgery. 

"  By  itself,"  said  Carlin,  after  a  close  scrutiny,  "  this  only 
corroborates  Talbot's  testimony  :  it  proves  that  what  he  says, 
about  declining  to  go  on  the  note  with  you,  is  true." 

**  At  ail  events,"  said  Allen,  "  it  certainly  is  not  the  paper  1 
found  on  my  table  with  the  note." 

"  Where  is  the  paper  you  found  ?"  asked  Carlin.  "  Can 
you  find  it  ?" 

**  No — ^I  have  searched  diligently,  and  in  vain.  I  have  no 
recollection  of  even  taking  it  from  the  table  where  1  found  it. 
But  you  do  not  ask  me  how  Miss  Talbot  got  this." 

"  All  in  good  time,"  said  Carlin.     "  Tell  us  now." 

Allen  related  the  circumstances. 

*'  Morris  Thorpe  ?"  said  Carlin,  thoughtfully.  "  Why,  he 
has  just  returned  from  Mexico,  too !  Do  you  see  nothing  sig- 
nificant in  this?" 

"  It  only  further  proves  what  I  have  long  suspected,"  said 
Clayton,  "but  what  Vernon  would  never  even  listen  to." 

"  I  was  unwilling,"  said  Allen,  "  to  believe  so  much  villainy 
of  any  man,  much  less  one  who  had  no  motive  to  do  as  you 
suspected  he  had  done.  You  recollect  you  thought  he  was  in- 
strumental in  producing  the  attack  upon  Manning  and  me  in 
the  wilderness ;  but  I  was  unable  to  believe  it,  because  I  could 
imagine  no  motive.  And  even  now,  when  I  have  another 
reason  for  suspecting  him  of  foul  play,  I  hesitate,  because  still 
I  cannot  penetrate  the  motive." 

.  "  Men  act  as  often  without  motive  as  with,"  said  Carlin, 
raising  his  head  from  (for  him)  a  long  reverie.  ••  But  in  this 
case  I  can  see  a  motive,  I  think.     Clayton,  has  it  not  been  un- 


396  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 

derstood  that  Thorpe  and  Talbot's  daughter  were  to  be  mar- 
ried V* 

•*  I  have  heard  so,"  Clayton  answered,  with  a  wince  which 
Carlin  affected  not  to  notice,  *•  and  I  believe  it  was  so.** 

*•  When  did  you  first  become  acquainted  with  Miss  Cara  ?** 
he  asked,  turning  to  Vernon. 

"  Only  a  few  weeks  before  our  departure  for  Mexico." 

"  And,"  said  Clayton,  "  she  was  then  engaged  to  Thorpe." 

"  Do  you  see  the  motive  now  ?"  asked  Carlin. 

"  I  suppose  I  understand  what  you  mean,"  said  Allen,  "  but 
I  would  not  believe  such  a  thing — " 

**  You  would  fall  back  upon  your  confidence  in  human  na- 
ture, I  suppose,"  said  Carlin,  with  a  smile,  which  looked  very 
much  like  a  sneer.  "  But  if  you  had  practised  law  as  long  as 
I  have,  you  would  be  as  cautious  as  possible  about  acting  upon 
any  such  poetical  notions.  The  fact  is,  sir,  that  Morris  Thorpe 
would  do  anything  under  heaven  to  attain  an  object  upon 
which  he  had  set  his  heart ;  and  in  matters  of  this  sort,  even 
the  most  honorable  man  will  sometimes  be  blinded  by  his  hot 
passions.  Morris  is  not  one  of  that  class;  and  I  am  fully 
aware  of  what  I  say,  when  I  assert,  that  he  would  take  advan- 
tage of  any  accident  to  commit  this  crime,  if  he  had  any  object, 
as  coolly  as  he  would  sit  down  to  a  good  dinner.  I  understand 
the  matter  now  as  fully  and  perfectly  as  if  1  had  been  present 
and  seen  the  name  signed." 

"  You  think,  then,"  said  Clayton,  "  as  I  do,  that  he  has  taken 
advantage  of  Vernon's  absence  to  change  the  purport  of  the 
note  left  by  Talbot,  and  sign  the  forged  name  to  the  other  ?" 

'*  Precisely,"  said  Carlin.  "  And  the  only  thing  which  is 
unaccountable  is  his  caie\esfiiies«»  m  nov.  d^^XxoYing  this  paper.'' 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  3g7 


^^  It  is  a  fatality  which  always  attends  the  commission  of 
crime,''  said  Clayton ;  ^'  and  through  this  mistake  of  his,  like 
every  evil-doer,  he  will  be  exposed  and  punished." 

**  If  we  can  prove  it,''  suggested  Carlin.  "  It  is  one  thing  to 
feel  assured  of  a  fact,  and  another  thing  to  establish  it  in  a 
Court  of  Jusnce.  Men  have  a  notion  that  it  should  take  more 
evidence  to  prove  a  fact  there  than  in  any  other  place ;  and 
here  we  have  not  even  the  usual,  out-of-doors  amount.  This, 
however,  we  must  remedy  by  ingenuity  and  close  watching. 
It  is  certain,  of  course,  that  the  charge  against  our  friend  here 
is  false.  Now  no  untrue  story  ever  was,  or  ever  will  be,  con- 
sistent— God  has  so  made  the  world  that  no  fact,  which  is  really 
a  fact,  can  be  made  the  foundation  of  a  lie — error  cannot  be 
built  upon  truth,  without  betraying  its  falsehood.  Well,  of 
course  there  will  be  real  facts  proven ;  facts,  unlike  many  estab- 
lished in  Courts  of  Justice,  which  are  true,  and,  if  we  watch 
closely,  we  cannot  avoid  detecting  the  discrepancy,  between 
them  and  the  case  attempted  to  be  made  out — for,  I  repeat,  a 
true  fact  and  a  false  story  cannot  by  human  ingenuity  be  made 
consistent.  This,  so  far  as  I  see,  and  unless  we  make  some 
further  discovery,  is  our  only  chance  for  an  acquittal.  This, 
many  would  suppose  to  mean  a  hopeless  case  ;  but  you  and  I 
know,  Clayton,  that  it  is  not  so.  More  than  half  the  great 
legal  reputations  of  the  country  have  been  made  by  such  vigi- 
lance alone ;  and  from  this  you  can  form  some  estimate  of  the 
number  of  causes,  which  are  commenced  without  hope,  and 
triumphantly  closed.  This,  indeed,  is  the  great  benefit  of  hav- 
ing a  class  of  lawyers — men  whose  intellects  are  practised  in 
ferreting  out  falsehood  and  discovering  truth — whose  minds  are 
unavoidably  so  trained  that^  whatever  evil  they  may  uo^  ^xA 


398  TALBOT  AKD  VEBNON. 

then  do  in  particular  cases,  in  the  long  run,  the  cause  of  truth 
must  be  benefitted  by  their  training.  Ignorant  men — and  only 
ignorant  men — abuse  the  lawyers  as  a  class ;  but  in  proportion 
to  their  ignorance  are  they  benefitted  by  them  and  preserved 
from  imposition.  For  there  is  no  institution,  not  even  that  of 
the  gibbet,  which  is  a  greater  terror  to  malefactors  than  the 
institution  of  the  Bar." 

"  A  very  flattering  comparison,  to  say  the  least  of  it,"  said 
Clayton  with  a  smile,  *'  but  T  believe  a  true  one,  too.  At  all 
events,  I  hope  your  anticipation  may  prove  correct  in  this  case 
if  in  no  other." 

''But  gentlemen,"  said  Vernon,  looking  up  from  the  floor 
where  he  had  been  gazing  throughout  Carlin's  lecture  on  law- 
yers, "  it  seems  to  me  that  you  overlook  a  very  important  cir- 
cumstance, when  you  suppose  Thorpe  to  have  done  this  act  in 
my  absence :  for  Hugh  /Manning  was  in  the  house  when  I  left 
it,  and  had  not  gone  when  I  returned — so  that  if,  according  to 
your  supposition,  the  forgery  was  committed  in  that  interval,  as 
indeed  it  must  have  been,  he  must  have  been  present ;  and  yet 
he  never  said  a  word  to  me  of  the  matter,  during  all  the  time 
since  elapsed." 

"  Hugh  is  dead,  I  believe,"  said  Carlin. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Vernon,  "  he  was  killed  near  Monterey." 

"  It  can  do  us  no  good,  then,"  said  the  other,  "  to  mention 
the  fact  of  his  having  been  there  ;  it  will  only  weaken  in  the 
minds  of  the  jury  the  probability  of  Thorpe's  having  com- 
mitted the  act." 

"  Besides,"  said  Clayton,  *'  Hugh  might  have  been  out  for  a 
few  moments,  or  he  might  have  even  seen  Thorpe  there,  with- 
out suspecting  anytliiii|^'wioii|^\  ojodthifi  may  account  for  his 


I 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  399 


never  meiitio4ing  the  circumstance;  for  I  believe  he  never 
heard  that  any  such  charge  as  this  was  made." 

"  What  was  it  you  said,"  Carlin  suddenly  asked,  "  about 
Thorpe's  procuring  an  attack  to  be  made  "upon  Hugh  in 
Mexico  ?" 

"  I  see  you  are  coming  to  the  same  conclusion  which  I  tried 
to  impress  upon  Vernon,"  said  Clayton ;  and  he  then  briefly 
related  the  adventure,  and  the  reason  he  had  for  believing 
Thorpe  to  have  been  the  mover  of  the  attack. 

"  It  is  as  clear  as  sunlight,"  said  Carlin.  "  You  may  rest  as- 
sured that  we  have  the  end  of  the  string,  whether  we  ever  get 
any  more  or  not.  Hugh  has  been  rash  enough  to  let  Thorpe 
suspect  the  fact  that  he  knew  of  his  villiany,  and  it  has  cost 
him  his  life." 

"  But,"  said  Allen,  "  I  do  not  see  how  he  could  have  made 
the  discovery,  except  at  the  moment  of  its  commission  ;  and  if 
he  saw  it  done,  how  could  Thorpe  be  ignorant  of  it  ?" 

"  We  may  be  very  certain  that  a  thing  exists,"  said  Carlin, 
<*  without  being  able  to  tell  exactly  how  ;  and  after  all  we  must 
not  lay  too  much  stress  upon  our  conjectures,  probable  as  they 
are,  for  we  are  not  able  to  prove  them,  and  have  arrived  at 
th^m  only  through  a  course  of  reasoning,  which  it  will  be  very 
diflSicult,  with  the  restrictions  of  the  law  of  evidence,  to  make 
any  jury  understand.  The  utmost  that  we  can  expect  is,  to  so 
array  the  evidence  that  they  will  doubt  which  of  the  two, 
Thorpe  or  Vernon,  committed  the  act ;  and  in  that  case  we 
may  possibly  get  an  instruction  from  the  Court,  that  they  cannot 
convict,  until  the  doubt  is  cleared  up." 

'•  But,''  said  Clayton,  "  the  object  of  our  client  is  to  show 
that  there  cannot  even  be  a  doubt  of  his  innocence." 


400  TALBOT  AND  VBRNON. 

"  True,  true ;  but  we  may  as  well  be  candid  and  tell  him 

now,  that  no  such  good  fortune  is  to  be  expected.     If  Manning 

were  alive  and  here,  we  could  speak  somewhat  differently ; 

but  I  understand  you  to  say  that  there  is  not  even  enough  pro. 

bability  of  his  re*appearance,  upon  which  to  found  an  affidavit 

for  a  continuance." 

Unfortunately,  there  can  be  no  doubt  of  his  death,"  said 

Vernon ;  "  and  a  continuance  is  not  what  I  want,  unless  I  were 

certain  of  being  able  to  establish  my  innocence  at  the  end  of 

the  time. 

"  We  have  nearly  two  months,  at  any  rate,"  said  Carlin,  "  in 
which  to  prepare  our  defence.  Something  may  turn  up  in  the 
mean  time,  and  if  nothing  should,  we  must  fall  back  upon  the 
hope  I  suggested  a  few  minutes  ago— trust  to  Providence  and 
our  own  watchfulness.  The  only  point  of  any  strength  we  now 
have,  is  the  testimony  of  Miss  Talbot." 

"  I  could  wish  not  to  call  her  if  we  can  do  without  it," 
said  Allen. 

"  Of  course,"  said  Clayton ;  "  but  we  cannot  do  without  it. 
We  will  then  rigidly  cross-examine  the  witnesses  for  the  prose- 
cution ;  and  if  we  elicit  nothing,  I  fear  the  case  is  a  hopeless 
one.  The  lawyer's  motto,  however,  is  *  never  despair,'  and 
even  at  the  last  moment  accident  may  enable  us  to  come  off 
•  with  flying  colors." 

"  Your  conclusion,  then,"  said  Allen,  "  is  simply  to  hope 
contra  spem  ?" 

"  Exactly,"  replied  the  lawyer.  "  And  now  for  another  mat- 
ter.    Have  you  surrendered  yourself  yet  ?" 

"  Not  yet,"  answered  Allen,  "  for  I  did  not  know  that  I  would 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  401 

be  able  to  procure  bail,  and  I  wished  to  have  a  day's  liberty  to 
arrange  my  affairs." 

"  Well,"  said  Carlin,  "  you  will  have  that  time,  at  all  events; 
and  when  you  are  arrested,  Mr.  Clayton  and  I  will  see  that 
you  have  sureties.  We  can  do  nothing  more  now,"  he  con- 
tinued, rising,  "  and  to-morrow  Clayton  and  I  will  talk  the  mat- 
ter over  again." 

He  shook  Allen's  hand  cordially  again,  bade  him  not  despair 
and  took  his  leave,  walking  quietly  down  the  street,  and  now 
and  then  smiling  pleasantly  at  his  own  ingenuity  in  unraveling 
a  difficult  case — totally  forgetting  that  in  every  conclusion  to 
■which  he  had  come,  he  had  been  anticipated  by  his  younger 
colleague.  He  was  after  all  more  of  an  advocate  than  counsel- 
lor, and  it  was  in  his  subtle  and  forcible  reasoning  before  a  jury 
that  his  strength  principally  lay.  No  one  could  penetrate  more 
ingeniously  the  disguises  which  iniquity  wears,  and  no  one 
could  tear  off  the  villain's  mask  with  more  effective  oratory  or 
more  fervent  conviction,  while  in  his  element  before  the  panel. 
But  in  consultation,  as  the  reader  may  have  observed,  he  was 
apt  to  be  diffuse  and  collateral — and  here,  as  in  all  other  places, 
his  tendency  to  lecture  was  sometimes  too  strong  for  him.  He 
was  a  good  talker  as  well  as  an  eloquent  speaker — qualities 
seldom  combined — and  his  conversation  was  often  rich  in 
thought  and  beautiful  in  imagery.  But  when  his  mind  was  not 
bent  by  the  necessity  of  the  moment  to  rigid  argument,  the 
very  qualities,  easy  and  fluent  diction  and  a  vivid  imagination^ 
which  made  him  a  fine  conversationalist,  suggested  immaterial 
points ;  detracted  from  his  value  as  a  counsellor,  by  leading  him 
to  sink  the  lawyer  in  the  pleasant  companion.  He  had  been 
retained  at  the  suggestion  of  ClaytOBy  for  his  povrecft  ^%  uiv.  ^*\.- 


402  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


vocate — and,  to 'say  the  truth,  not  for  any  advantage  he  was 
expected  to  bring  in  the  way  of  preparation.  Clayton,  though 
a  much  younger  man,  was  immeasurably  his  superior  in  all  that 
relates  to  the  disposition  for  the  fight ;  cool,  deliberate,  acute 
and  profound,  he  would  long  since  have  taken  a  far  higher  rank 
at  the  bar,  but  for  two  obstacles  to  his  advancement — ill  health 
and  a  constitutional  indolence,  which  led  him  to  undervalue  the 
results  to  be  attained,  in  comparison  with  the  effort  necessary  to 
secure  them.  He  was  also  an  able  speaker,  though  in  this 
his  more  showy  colleague  held  an  admitted  pre-eminence. 
With  either  of  them  singly,  the  force  would  not  have  beep 
complete  ;  but  with  both  of  them  every  arm  necessary  to  suc- 
cess was  fully  represented.  For  the  great  law  which  makes 
the  division  of  labor  in  all  things  a  necessity,  obtains  equally  in 
the  conflicts  of  mind.  It  is  only  when  men  mistake  their  voca- 
tion, and  intermeddle  with  departments  for  which  they  are  not 
fitted,  that  this  great  law  of  God's  providence  is  defeated. 

Clayton  was,  by  nature,  not  more  sanguine  than  his  col- 
league, but  his  very  cautiousness  in  this  case  made  him  hope 
better  things  than  Carlin  had  dared  to  anticipate ;  and  when  he 
shook  Vernon  by  the  hand,  and  was  left  alone,  it  was  with  far 
better  spirits,  and  with  a  far  more  sanguine  expectation  of  suc- 
cess, than  he  had  felt  since  the  disappearance  of  Hugh  Man- 
ning. He  had,  as  every  true  lawyer  has,  some  of  Carlin's 
confidence  in  the  efficacy  of  watching  the  course  of  events ; 
but  it  was  with  far  more  sincerity  that  he  bade  Vernon  never 
despair  when  he  left  him. 

Allen  had  walked  but  a  few  steps  from  the  office  door,  when 
he  was  suddenly  stopped  by  Morris  Thorpe,  who  cordially  ex- 
tended  his  hand.     TVi\s  "V^tivoti  ^\^  TkOl  deem  it  prudent  t ) 

\ 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  403 


refuse ;  and  he  therefore  met  him,  as  nearly  as  he  could,  as  if 
he  had  no  reason  to  suspect  him. 

"  You  must  have  travelled  slowly,"  said  Thorpe.  "  I  left 
Buena  Vista  more  than  a  week  after  you,  and  yet  arrived  here 
on  the  same  day." 

"  I  had  nothing  to  anticipate  at  home,  so  pleasant  as  to 
hasten  me,"  said  Allen. 

"  True,"  Thorpe  replied.  "  That  is  an  unfortunate  affair, 
and  I  am  almost  as  unfortunate  in  it  as  you  are." 

"  How  so  ?"  asked  Allen,  with  a  start  which  did  not  escape 
Thorpe. 

"  I  have  been  requested  to  accept  a  retainer  for  the  prosecu- 
tion," he  said,  **  and  by  a  man,  too,  whom  it  would  embarrass 
me  to  refuse — Colonel  Talbot.  The  State's  Attorney  has  noti- 
fied him  that  he  will  need  assistance,  and  Talbot  came  accord- 
ingly to  me." 

"I  cannot  justly  object  to  that,"  said  Vernon.  "You  are  a 
lawyer,  and  it  is  your  duty  to  give  your  efforts  to  those  who 
call  for  them." 

"  I  am, glad  to  find  that  you  take  that  view,"  said  Thorpe, 
with  an  air  of  relief;  "for,  otherwise  I  would  have  refused  at 
all  hazards.  But,  on  reflection,  I  think  it  better  for  you  that 
you  should  be  assured  of  a  fair  trial,  by  having  a  friend  on  the 
other  side.  I  assure  you  that  you  shall  have  nothing  to  com- 
plain of  in  my  course  ;  and  that  no  one  will  more  sincerely  re- 
joice should  you-  be  able  to  establish  your  innocence.  For  my 
part,  I  have  never  doubted  it." 

**  None  who  know  me  ever  have  doubted  it,  I  believe,"  said 
Allen  ;  "  but  whether  I  shall  be  able  to  make  it  appear,  is  ano- 
ther question." 


404  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 

"  I  sincerely  hope  you  may,"  said  Thorpe,  with  every  appear- 
ance of  candor. 

Vernon  expressed  his  thanks  for  the  kind  wish,  and  after 
several  repetitions  of  the  same  substance,  they  parted — Vernon 
continuing  down  the  street,  and  Thorpe  resuming  his  walk 
with  a  sneering  smile. 

"  Another  question,  indeed !"  he  muttered  in  his  usual  fashion, 
half-thinking,  half-speaking.  A  few  steps  brought  him  to  the 
court-houses-one  of  those  al)ominable,  barn-looking  piles  of 
brick  and  mortar,  which  disgrace  so  many  of  our  cities — and 
entering,  he  sought  a  door,  over  which  was  nailed  a  dingy  tin 
sign,-  with  the  words,  "  Sheriff's  Office,"  in  faded  yellow 
paint. 


u 


CHAPTER    III. 


why  might  not  a  man  love  a  calf  as  well, 


Or  melt  in  psMion  o'er  a  frisking  kid,  as  for  a  son."— Thoicas  Ktd. 

"  Within  the  oyster's  shell  unconth, 
The  purest  pearl  may  hide — 
Trust  me,  you'll  find  a  heart  of  truth, 
Within  that  rough  outside." — Osgood. 

The  room  entered  by  Thorpe  was  of  moderate  dimensions, 
and  very  scantily  furnished.  A  large  stove  stood  in  the  middle 
of  the  floor,  and  under  it  seemed  to  have  been  swept  the  accu- 
mulated dirt  of  the  whole  pireceding  winter.  It  was  cold, 
now,  the  warm  weather  rendering  Are  unnecessary ;  but  a  lit- 
tle tin  pan,  very  red  inside,  and  very  black  outside,  stood  on  top 
half  full  of  very  dirty  water.  A  long,  rickety  table,  and  two 
smaller  ones,  with,  perhaps,  a  dozen  crazy  chairs,  half  of  them 
without  backs,  well  rounded  at  the  corners,  and  notched  on  the 
sides  by  penknives,  comprised  the  furniture  of  the  office.  Cob- 
webs, bending  towards  the  floor  with  loads  of  dust,  ornamented 
the  ceiling  and  corners,  and  the  windows  looked  as  if  divorced, 
a  vinculo,  from  everything  moist. 

At  one  of  the  smaller  tables,  whose  drab  fustian  cover  was 
well  dabbled  with  ink,  and  split  into  ribbons  by  the  aforesaid 
penknives,  sat  a  short,  heavy-made  man,  with  fierce  black 
whiskers,  and  a  very  dark  complexion.  With  a  pair  of  grap- 
pling-iron hands,  he  was  arranging  a  large  number  of  sum- 
monses, subpoenas,  cost-bills,  and  executions,  speYimg  o\et  >i}|[i^\i 


406  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


titles,  and  laying  each  in  its  place.  He  turned  as  Thorpe 
entered,  and  springing  up  grasped  his  extended  hand,  with  a 
gripe  like  a  vice. 

**  Glad  to  see  you  back,  sir — glad  to  see  you  back  !"  he  ex- 
claimed, in  a  harsh,  grating  voice,  which  always  reminded 
Thorpe  of  manacles.     "  When  did  you  return  ?" 

"  Only  yesterday,  Gillam,**  said  the  colonel,  in  his  softest 
accents  ;  **  I  hope  you  have  been  well." 

"Never  was  better  in  my  life,  sir,**  answered  the  sheriff. 
"How  does  campaigning  agree  with  you ?" 

*'  Admirably,"  the  colonel  replied  ;  "  so  much  so  that  I  was 
sorry  to  be  recalled.'* 

"  Wouldn't  have  come,  sir,"  said  the  sheriff.  *'  What  in- 
duced you  to  give  it  up — fought  battles  enough  ?" 

*'  Not  that  exactly,"  said  Thorpe,  "  but  my  business  was 
suffering  from  my  absence.  And  that  reminds  me — have  yon 
not  a  warrant  in  your  hands  for  the  apprehension  of  one  Allen 
Vernon  ?** 

"  Yes,"  said  Gillam,  "  for  forgery — has  he  returned,  too  ?" 

"  1  met  him  on  the  street  but  a  few  moments  ago  ;  and  it 
occurred  to  me,  that  perhaps,  you  were  not  aware  of  his  re- 
turn.** 

"  I  was  not,  sir ;  glad  you  told  me ;  I'll  have  him  forthwith,** 
said  the  officer.  "  But  what  the  devil  has  induced  him  to  come 
back  ?'* 

"  I  apprehend,  that  he  did  not  know  the  forgery  had  been 
detected,  and  perhaps  thought  of  lifting  the  note,**  said  the 
colonel. 

"  Bad  case,*'  mused  the  sheriff,  "  very  bad — I'm  sorry  for 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  407 


him,  and  for  his  old  fool  of  a  father,  too.  .But  it  can't  be 
helped  now.     Better  luck,  or  better  sense,  next  time." 

•*  It  is  a  hard  case,"  said  Thorpe  ;  "  but  yoar  duty  and  mine 
have  brought  us  in  contact  with  very  many  hard  cases.  In 
this  instance  we  must  obey  it,  as  usual,  I  am  retained  for  the 
prosecution,  and  I  advise  you  to  arrest  him  as  soon  as  possible." 

"  1*11  do  that,  of  course,"  said  the  officer  dryly  ;  and  having 
accomplished  the  object  for  which  he  came,  Thorpe  took  his 
leave. 

"  Humph,"  said  Gillam,  as  he  closed  the  door.  **  What  the 
devil  could  induce  him  to  come  home,  expressly  to  prosecute 
this  young  Vernon,  I  wonder?  A  friend  of  his,  too,  they  say. 
I  wonder  if  there  can  be  any  truth  in  this  story  about  old 
Talbot's  daughter  interesting  herself  for  Vernon  ;  and  I  wonder 
whether  the  colonel  wouldn't  like  to  convict  a  rival  like  him  ! 
Whew !  And  the  officer  whistled  a  deep  long  note  of  peculiar 
meaning.     He  then  shook  his  head  several  times  doubtfully. 

"  Some  foul  play  there,  certainly,"  he  said.  "  However,  the 
sly  rascal  was  right  about  my  duty — I  must  hunt  him  up  and 
arrest  him." 

He  hastily  bundled  up  his  papers,  and  putting  them  into  a 
large  pocket-book  left  the  office. 

In  the  mean  time  Allen  held  on  his  wa^  down  the  street,  for 
several  squares,  until  coming  opposite  to  a  house  with  the 
name  of  "Uriah  Manning"  above  the  door,  he  crossed  over  and 
entered.  The  front  room — the  same  in  which  he  had  first  met 
Hugh — was  no  longer  used  as  a  shop.  Neither  the  noise  of 
hammer  nor  of  saw  broke  the  stillness  of  the  place.  A  few 
boards  were  piled  against  one  of  the  walls,  and — mute  witness 
of  JJnah*8  thrift — a  heap  of  scraps  and  shavingB  oc<i\X"^\^^  ^tft 


408  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 

corner.  A  chest,  probably  containing  Hugh's  tools,  sat  at  the 
lower  end,  near  the  open  door  of  the  counting-room ;  and 
within  this,  could  be  discerned  the  thrifty  money-lender,  poring 
over  a  paper  looking  marvellously  like  a  mortgage  deed.  The 
same  old-fashioned  strong  box  stood  in  its  ancient  place,  and 
the  same  solitary  chair,  now  becoming  rickety  with  age,  bore 
the  burden  of  its  owner's  body.  The  oB  man  did  not  look  up 
and  as  Vernon  approached  him,  he  thought  that,  could  memory 
be  sunk,  one  might  believe  that  not  five  minutes  had  passed 
since  the  unlucky  day  when  he  here  deposited  his  note  and 
received  the  money.  He  approached  within  a  few  feet  before 
his  presence  was  heeded  ;  but  when  the  old  man  logked  up,  he 
gave  a  start  which  at  once  dissipated  every  appearance  of  ab- 
straction. 

"  What  I"  he  exclaimed,  "  you  back  I"  As  he  spoke  he  some- 
what hastily  turned  the  key  of  the  safe  and  deposited  it  in  lus 
pocket 

"  My  return  seems  to  surprise  as  well  as  alarm  you,''  said 
Allen  quietly. 

"  Surprise  me,"  said  the  money-lender,  shifting  his  position 
from  the  chair  to  the  safe,  and  gazing  at  him  as  if  the  emotion 
had  deprived  him  of  further  speech. 

"  Yes,  and  alarm  you,"  Allen  repeated,  smiling  at  his  ap- 

to 

pearance. 

"  It  will  surprise  more  people  than  me,"  said  he  at  last,  as  if 
recovered  from  a  sort  of  dream. 

"  You  did  not  expect  me  then  ?"  Vernon  asked. 

**  Never  expected  to  see  you  again  in  the  world  I"  he  said, 
pushing  the  chair  towards  him,  but  not  inviting  him  to  sit. 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  409 


"  You  believed  me  guilty  of'  the  charge  made  against  me  V 
said  Allen  taking  the  chair  so  ungraciously  offered. 

"  Believed  you  guilty  I"  exclaimed  Uriah.  "  Believed, 
indeed  !"  And  he  gave  a  kind  of  chuckle,  as  if  he  had  de- 
tected some  one  in  a  simplicity,  which  with  him  was  equal  to 
a  dishonesty. 

"  I  am  not  here  to  argue  that  question,  Mr.  Manning,*'  said 
Vernon,  feeling  his  choler  rising,  and  unwilling  further  to  bandy 
"words  with  one  who  hesitated  so  little  to  wound  his  feelings* 
"  I  am  the  bearer  of  some  tidings  from  your  son,  which  I 
thought  it  my  duty  to  deliver  to  you  in  person.'' 

'^  Hugh  ?''  said  the  money  lender,  with  an  appearance  of  in- 
terest ;  "  Hugh  ?  What  of  him  ?  When  is  he  coming 
home  ?" 

"  Not  soon,  I  fear,"  said  Allen,  "  indeed,  never." 

^^  What !"  shouted  the  old  man,  with  a  bound  which  brought 
him  within  a  foot  of  Allen.     **  Is  he  dead  ?" 

**  I  fear  I  must  say  yes,"  answered  Vernon. 

The  old  man  placed  his  hands  upon  his  bent  knees,  audi 
stooping,  gazed  with  a  deprecating  smile  of  unutterable  mourn- 
fulness  in  Allen's  face. 

"  Don't  tell  me  any  lie,  now,"  he  whispered  coaxingly, 
^^  Don't  wring  a  poor  old  man's  heart  because  he  has  to  prose- 
cute you ;  come,  now,  don't  say  so.  Think  of  it— do  think  of 
it  again,  and  see  how  cruel  it  would  be.  I  didn't  press  the  ac- 
cusation against  you,  indeed  I  didn't ;  it  was  old  Talbot,  indeed 
it  was.  Come,  now,  tell  me  Hugh  is  not  dead."  In  his 
earnesti^esshe  placed  one  hand  on  Allen's  shoulder  caressingly, 
anci  Allen  could  feel  it  trembling  like   an  aspen  leaf.     I{e  did 

18 


410  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


not  u'ink,  either,  and  his  eyes  dilated  and  fixed  their  gaze  upon 
Allen's  face,  with  almost  frenzied  intensity. 

**  I  ought  to  have  been  more  cautious,"  said  Allen,  "  but  it  is 
unfortunately  too  true.'* 

The  old  man  slowly  withdrew  his  hand,  and  his  eyes  drooped 
to  the  floor.  He  sank  back  feebly  upon  the  safe,  and  his  hands 
hung  helplessly  by  his  sides. 

^'  Dead,"  he  murmured;  '^  and  there  goes  the  hope  of  twenty 
years  I     Twenty  years !  and  such  years  !" 

He  rose  painfully,  as  if  the  strength  that  had  sustained  him 
through  all  those  weary  years,  had  been  destroyed  at  one  blow, 
and  walked  with  tottering  steps  to  and  fro  across  the  room. 
Allen  rose  to  assist  him  ;  but  he  shook  his  head  and  continued 
his  walk.  Minute  after  minute  went  by,  and  still  he  never 
looked  up.  Indeed,  he  seemed  entirely  to  have  forgotten  that 
he  was  not  alone  ;  and  muttering  to  himself  words  broken  and 
disjointed,  he  seemed  utterly  unconscious  of  everything  around 
him.  He  was  reviewing  those  years — *•  stich  years  /" — count- 
ing his  gains  only  as  losses,  eating  the  fruit  which,  like  the 
apple  of  Sodom,  had  turned  to  ashes.  The  son  for  whom  be 
had  pinched  and  hoarded — 'for  whom  he  had  ground  the  needy 
and  forgotten  the  poor---for  whom  he  had  lived  meanly  and 
worked  hard — for  whose  benefit  he  had  neglected  every  duty, 
and  accumulated  thousands  upon  thousands-rtthat  son  was  takeu 
from  him,  and  his  wealth  was  no  longer  of  value  !  To  have 
been  deprived  of  his  hoards^  stripped  naked  and  tuirned  shelf 
terless  upon  the  world's  charity,  it  seen^ed  to  him  now, 
would  have  been  a  merciful  sentence,  could  his  son  have  been 
spared  him.  To  be  iVve  Tg^Qssessor  of  thousands  with  no  object 
for  whom  to  save  lYlem,v7B.%\3^^.\.«t\i^^vi\\^^Qt^^^^^^^^^     He  was 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  4II 


a  miser  without  doubt ;  but  m  him,  as  unfortunately  in  many, 
the  very  best  traits  had  only  watered  and  nourished  and 
strengthened  the  worst.  He  loved  his  son,  and  from  this  genial 
but  perverted  soil,  had  grown  and  flourished  the  very  darkest  of 
his  passions.  But  the  punishment  had  come  ;  and  in  the  agony 
of  that  moment,  God  may  have  concentrated  a  punishment 
equal  to  his  sins. 

Vernon  had  no  consolation  to  Oflfer — he  felt  that  none  he  could 
give  could  heal  the  wounded  spirit.  The  old  man  was  stricken 
beyond  human  art ;  and  though  he  had  not  spoken  of  the  busi- 
ness for  which  in  part  he  came,  he  turned  from  the  room  and 
left  the  mourner  alone  in  his  grief. 

As  he  stepped  out  of  the  from  door,  a  short  man,  with  black 
whiskers,  accosted  him  with  the  question  whether  his  name  wa» 
Vernon  ? 

"  That  is  my  name,  sir,"  said  Allen,  simply. 

«*  Then,  I  am  sorry  to'  say  I  have  a  warrant  for  you,"  said 
Gil  lam,  the  sheriff,  producing  the  paper  and  handing  it  to  Allen. 

"  It  is  not  unexpected,"  said  the  latter,  returning  it.  "  Will 
yon  be  good  enough  to  walk  with  me  to  Mr.  Clayton's  office  ?" 

"  Certainly,"  said  the  officer,  "  if  you  want  me  to  do  so  ;  but 
if  you  will  come  with  your  sureties  to  my  office  at  three 
o'clock,  I  will  go  back  and  not  trouble  you  with  my  presence.'* 

*«  Thank  you  !*'  Allen  exclaimed,  "  a  thousand  times  I  I  will 
either  bring  you  sureties  or  come  myself  alone." 

"  That  will  do,  sir,*'  said  the  officer.  "  And  now  I  have  an- 
other word  or  two  to  say.  Can't  say  that  I  can  suggest  any- 
thing about  your  case,  that  Clayton  will  not  see  when  he  hears 
the  evidence.     Bu^  heard  what  was  sworn  before  th^  Gt^\v5v 


412  TALBOT  AND  VERNON 

Jury,  which  he  did  not,  and  I  hope  I  can  put  you  upon  the  track 
of  a  defence.'' 

"It  is  not  possible  for  man  to  do  me  a  greater  favor,"  said 
Allen,  '*  and  nothing  could  command  gratitude  so  warm." 

**  No  favor  at  all,'*  said  Gillam,  waving  his  hand.  <<  I  am  an 
officer  of  justice,  sir ;  it  is  part  of  my  duty  to  see  justice  admin- 
istered ;  and  allow  me  to  say,  sir,  that  I  believe  it  would  not  be 
done  if  you  were  unable  to  establish  your  innocence  :  I  believe 
there  has  been  foul  play,  sir !" 

**  There  has,  indeed  I"  said  Allen. 

"  Well,"  continued  Gillam,  "  I'll  not  detain  you  longer  than 
five  minutes.  As  I  said  before,  I  know  precisely  what  was 
sworn  before  the  Grand  Jury,  and  Clayton  does  not.  Colonel 
Talbot  swore  that  you  asked  him  to  go  upon  your  paper,  and 
showed  him  this  identical  note — that  he  did  not  know  whether 
his  business  would  allow  it,  and  took  the  matter  under  advise- 
ment to  ascertain — that  on  the  following  morning,  finding  he 
could  ftot  do  it,  and  being  called  away  from  home,  he  went  to 
your  house,  and  not  finding  you  at  home,  left  this  note  with  a 
few  lines,  explaining  the  reason  why  he  could  not  sign  it,  and 
requesting  Hugh  Manning,  who  was  there,  to  give  it  to  you 
when  you  should  return." 

"  Precisely,"  said  Allen,  "  and  when  I  did  return  Hugh  was 
there  yet,  and  he  pointed  out  the  note  already  signed,  saying 
that  it  had  been  left  there  by  Colonel  Talbot." 

"  Yes,"  resumed  the  officer ;  "  and  Uriah  Manning  swore  that 
you  came  into  his  office,  when  you  got  the  money,  with  his  son 
Hugh,  who  had  been  at  your  house  doing  some  work." 

"  That  is  true,  a\so  "  said  Allen, 
r      "  Well,"  said  G'lWanv,  **  '\i  iVi^  wox.^  ^^^  -rwit  %\^i?i\  ^\jau  it 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  41 3 


left  there,  and  was  signed  when  you  returned,  and  Hugh 
\(ras  there  all  the  time,  the  conclusion  is  that  he  signed  it.  No 
jury  on  earth  would  believe  anything  else." 

"  That  is  impossible,"  said  Allen  :  "  I  would  not,  could  not, 
believe  it,  even  if  I  had  no  reason,  other  than  my  knowledge  of 
Hugh's  character,  to  believe  the  contrary*'* 

"  I  don't  know  Hugh,"  said  Gillam  ;  "  I  am  only  arguing  the 
case  upon  the  evidence.  But  if  he  did  not  do  it  himself,  I  have 
no  doubt  he  could  explain  how  it  was  done." 

"  That  may  be,"  said  Allen,  "if  we  could  produce  him ;  but 
he  is  past  giving  evidence  in  human  courts  now." 

"  How  is  that — is  he  dead?" 

"  He  is,"  said  Allen,  "  and  this  is  the  only  thing  that  embar- 


rasses me." 


"  That  is  unlucky  I"  said  the  sheriff.  "  But  do  you  know 
whether  be  was  on  terms  of  intimacy  with  Colonel  Thorpe  be- 
fore his  death  ?" 

"  He  was  not,''  said  Vernon  ;  **  why  do  you  ask  ?'' 

"  Because,"  answered  Gillam,  "  Thorpe  came  to  me  but  an 
hour  ago,  and  directed  me  to  arrest  you  immediately — telling 
me  that  his  return  was  owing  entirely  to  his  business.  Now  I 
happen  to  know  that  his  business  was  not  suffering  at  all ;  and 
I  am  certain  that  his  only  object  in  returning  was  to  prosecute 
you." 

"  Why  should  he  wish  to  prosecute  me  ?'*  asked  Allen. 

"  If  you  know  of  no  reason,  I  know  of  none,"  said  Gillam 
smiling. 

"  Well,  well,"  said  Allen,  "  I  am  much  obliged  to  you  for 
your  good  opinion-^though  you  are  mistaken  as  to  Hugh." 


414  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


*^  Not  at  all  obliged/'  said  the  officer,  drawing  out  his  watch. 
"  I  most  go  back  to  the  office — you  will  be  there  at  three  ?" 

"  Punctually,"  answered  Allen  ;  and  turned  away. 

^^  If  you  cannot  easily  get  bail,"  said  the  officer,  recalling 
him,  **  you  can  command  anything  I  can  do  for  you — ^I  may  be 
able  to  find  a  friend  for  you,  though  my  recognizance  would 
not  be  taken.'' 

"  I  am  a  thousand  times  obliged,"  said  Allen  ;  **  but  I  think 
I  will  have  no  difficulty.     Mr.  Carlin  told  me  he  would  procure 


sureties." 


"  Moses  Carlin  ?"  said  Gillam.     **  Have  you  employed  him  ?" 

"  He  was  retained  for  me  by  Mr.  Clayton,"  said  Allen. 

"  Then  you  are  safe  enough,"  said  the  officer  ;  "  for  if  those 
two  cannot  smoke  this  villainy  out,  it  is  hidden  deeper  than 
villainy  ever  was  before.  But,  still,  Thorpe  is  singly  a  match 
for  either — and  if  he  had  the  right  side,  for  both  ;  and  I  know 
he  will  leave  no  stone  unturned/ 

"  I  suppose  not,"  Allen  replied  ;  **  though  why  he  should  be 
80  virulent  against  me,  I  am  at  a  loss  to  conjecture." 

"  You  don't  know  him,"  said  Gillam.  "  He  never  forgives 
an  injury,  and  never  pardons  any  one  for  being  in  his  way." 

"  I  have  never  injured  him,"  said  Allen. 

"  No  ;  but  you  are  in  his  way,  and  he  is  determined  to  be 
rid  of  you.  But  I  must  go  back  to  the  office.  Here  is  the 
key,"  he  continued,  hastily,  "  of  your  house  that  old  Manning 
attached.  I  suppose  since  you  have  returned  he  will  not  press 
the  attachment ;  and,  at  all  events,  you  shall  have  the  posses- 
sion if  you  wish  it." 

**  There  is  nothing  I  desire  more,  except  the  means  of  esla- 
blishin^;  my  innocence  *,  \>\xx.  *\i  ^o\xx  VvcA-Tkess*  \^  v^  Vvtva^  you 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  415 

into  any  risk  of  censure  or  loss,  I  could  not  honorably  receive 
it.*' 

*'  No  risk  at  all/'  said  Gillam,  under  whose  rough  exterior 
there  was  a  heart  as  soft  as  a  child's ;  **  and  if  there  were, 
-why,  damn  it !  you  are  an  innocent  man,  and  you  shall  have 
your  property  I" 

Allen  warmly  thanked  him  ;  but,  in  the  midst  of  his  protes- 
tations, the  officer  turned  abruptly  on  his  heel,  and  hurried 
away  down  the  street,  as  if  in  pursuit  of  a  whole  bevy  of 
housebreakers.  Vernon  gazed  after  him  a  moment,  and  then 
turned  away,  convinced  that  however  true  the  novel  portraits 
of  the  officers  of  the  law  may  be  in  general,  sometimes,  at 
least,  a  human  heart  can  be  found  even  among  them.  As  Gil- 
lam disappeared  among  the  crowd,  Allen  hurried  away  once 
more  to  his  own  home. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

^  Ai  tedious  as  a  twice-told  tale, 
Yexing  the  dull  ear  of  a  drowsy  man.''— Kino  John. 

'<  It  is  too  late  ;  the  life  of  all  bis  blood 
Is  touched  comiptibly."— Idm<. 

Connoisseurs  in  paincing^'and  critics  of  music,  endeavor  to 
persuade  us  that  there  is  a  certain  fixed  and  invariable  standard 
by  which  these  delights  of  the  eye  and  the  ear  are  to  be  judged. 
And  in  each  of  these  arts,  we  suppose,  there  are  certain  canons, 
which  no  artist  can  safely  transgress.  But  these  rules  are  so 
general  in  their  nature,  and  so  variously  understood,  that  the 
widest  differences  are  often  covered  by  the  same  canopy. 
Chancery  courts  have  a  maxim  that  they  "  will  presume  every- 
thing done,  which  ought  to  have  been  done,  until  the  contrary 
be  shewn;"  but  "what  ought  to  have  been  done,*'  is  the  sub- 
ject of  anpther  inquiry,  to  be  determined  by  a  consideration  of 
the  ever-varying  circumstances  of  each  particular  case.  Now, 
it  is  a  canon  of  painting,  that  no  artist  shall  violate  truth 
of  coloring,  form,  or  treatment;  and  a  canon  of  music  that 
false  sounds  or  absolute  discords  shall  be  avoided.  But  what 
is  a  violation  of  truth  in  the  former  case,  depends  often  en- 
tirely upon  the  taste,  knowledge  or  feeling  of  the  beholder,  and 
still  oftener  upon  the  character  of  the  subject  treated  ;  and  in 
the  latter  case,  w\vat  *\a  «l  l^\s^  fe^\m.4  de^jends  quite  as  much 
upon  the  temper  and  iaeii\.«.\  \vva\.at^  ol  ^}cv^i\^Rsa^\^'^^i;:^\J^'«£.^ 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  417 


general  law.  I  may  look  upon  a  painting,  or  listen  to  a  piece 
\  of  music,  and  discover  in  each,  every  beauty  both  of  conception 
and  execution ;  a^iother  may  do  the  same,  and  yet  find  abso- 
lutely nothing  to  commend  in  either :  and  yet,  between  him 
and  me  there  may  not  be,  in  degree,  the  smallest  difference  in 
taste  or  judgment.  We  will  both  agree  that  false  coloring  and 
false  sounds  are  to  be  censured  ;  and  yet  we  may  be  as  wide 
as  the  poles  apart  upon  the  question  what  false  coloring  or  false 
sound  actually  is.  Education,  mood,  temperament,  association, 
all  enter  into  the  question ;  and  it  would  be  as  absurd  in  me  to 
say  he  has  no  taste,  or  in  him  to  say  I  have  none,  as  it  would 
be  in  one  man  to  deride  another  for  admiring  blue  eyeSj  because 
he  himself  happens  to  think  black  eyes  finer. 

A  strain  of  music,  in  which  another  would  hear  nothing:  but 
discord,  may  be  to  me  inexpressibly  beautiful — may  come  to 
me  as  the  voice  of  one  departed — may  fill  my  eyes  with  tears, 
and  my  soul  with  the  sweetest  and  tenderest  of  memories  ;  and 
in  a  picture,  where  another  would  see  nothing  but  falsehood  and 
exaggeration,  there  may  be  to  me  colors  which  he  cannot  see — 
associations  of  scenes  with  which  are  connected  the  brightest 
or  the  darkest  passages  of  a  chequered  life.  The  picture,  or 
the  music,  may  be  in  itself  beautiful,  or  the  opposite  ;  he  may 
be  right  in  saying  the  latter — I  may  be  right  in  thinking  the 
former  ;  or,  more  probably,  both  of  us  may  be  correct — for  we 
judge  by  far  different  standards.  The  association  which  I  per- 
ceive, may  produce  the  degree  of  sympathy  necessary  to  appre- 
ciation, and  his  frame  of  mind  may  be  that  in  which  nothing 
would  appear  beautiful. 

To  read  even  the  greatest  poem  with  pleasure,  our  mood 

must  be  such  as  will  harmonize  with  its  tone  ol  l\vow^\.  ^\A 
18^ 


418  TALBOT  AND  VERKON. 


feeling ;  and  we  may  be  so  constituted  as  never  to  feel  this. 
How  many  men,  for  example,  consent  to  take  the  excellence  of 
the  "  Paradise  Lost"  upon  trust,  rather  thah  endure  the  labor 
of  reading  it  for  themselves  ?  And  how  many  would  enjoy  it 
at  one  time,  who  would  find  it  intolerably  dull  at  another  time  ? 
How  few  of  the  thousands  who  annually  visit  Rome,  would 
agree  in  their  judgment  of  the  works  of  art  there,  if  the  honest 
sentiments  of  their  hearts  were  known?  And  even  among 
those  who  really  admire  them,  what  two  sincerely  do  so  for  the 
same  reason  ?  The  beauty  which  enraptures  one  in  a  painting 
of  Raphael  or  Angelo,  may  depend  upon  circumstances  or 
scenes  of  which  another  knows  nothing ;  and  the  bending  of  a 
twig,  or  the  drooping  of  a  flower,  may  call  up  the  association 
personal  to  him  alone ;  and  all  his  raptures  may  have  their 
source  in  beauties  not  to  be  found  in  the  painting  at  all.  This, 
of  course,  does  not  prove  that  there  are  not  beauties  there  of 
another  kind,  fully  justifying  all  this  enthusiasm  ;  but  neither 
does  it  prove  their  presence.  For  another  painting,  having 
none  of  these  beauties,  but  holding  the  key  to  the  association, 
might  produce  the  same  feelings—might  evoke  memories,  and 
breathe  voices  just  as  powerful  to  produce  emotions,  as  the 
grandest  master-pieces  of  the  greatest  painters.  And  so  also 
in  music,  as  in  the  human  voice :  a  tone,  an  inflexion,  the  very 
faintest  and  briefest  note,  may  strike  a  chord  in  the  heart,  and 
there  embalm  the  piece  forever. 

These  associations  in  painting  are  generally  drawn  from  na- 
tural scenes ;  and  he  is  the  greatest  painter  who  calls  up  most 
of  them — who  paints  truthfully  according  to  nature,  violating 
no  recognized  law  of  nature,  so  as  to  give  the  associations  of 
the  beholder  theit  iuW  ioice.    ^\\^  ^xcio^vci%  c^fl  -^  ^5:i^wet  in  a 


TALBOT  AND  VBRNON.  419 


landscape  may  remind  one  of  his  bygone  boyish  days,  when, 
light-hearted  and  careloss,  he  plucked  daisies  and  butter-cups  in 
the  fields  around  the  home  of  his  father  ;  imagination  will  car- 
ry him  (m ;  he  will  tread  again  the  shaded  walks  and  green 
lanes,  be  will  hear  once  more  the  lowing  of  herds  in  the  field 
or  the  sighing  of  the  wind  along  the  meadow  ;  he  will  see  the 
flocks  collected  in  the  corners  of  the  fences,  or  beneath  the  old 
familiar  trees  in  the  still  summer  days.  And  his  father  and  his 
mother,  with  his  brothers  and  his  sister,  will  come  again  before 
him ;  and  in  his  mind  will  rise  a  picture  far  more  true  and 
beautiful  than  that  before  his  eyes.  The  emotions  thus  called 
up,  with  their  long  train  of  teeming  memories,  will  forever 
after  be  connected  with  the  picture  that  evoked  them ;  and  the 
beauties  of  remembrance  will  be  given  to  the  agent  of  their  re- 
collection. The  man  who  paints  thus  to  the  heart  is  a  great 
artist,  because  he  paints  ^rt//y.  But  if,  beside  the  fiower  droop- 
ing thus,  as  flowers  drooped  in  days  of  old,  he  had  painted  an 
impossible  tree,  overshadowing  the  scene  with  unnatural  gloom 
^-or  a  stream,  a  rock,  or  any  other  object  shapeless  and  false — 
these  associations  could  not  have  been  called  up ;  the  only  emo- 
tion produced  would  have  been  disgust,  and  the  painter  would 
justly  have  been  contemned. 

The  greatest  painter,  then,  is  he  who  pleases  the  greatest 
number  of  those  who  are  susceptible  of  pleasure  from  works  of 
art.  It  cannot  be  precisely  determined,  but  we  may  reasonably 
suspect,  that  this  includes  but  a  small  number  of  the  crowds 
who  throng  picture-galleries  and  go  into  ecstacies  before  paint- 
ino:s.  Criticism  has  come  to  be  so  much  a  mere  trade,  or  ra- 
ther  so  much  a  means  of  acquiring  a  mere  temporary  liveli« 
hood,  that  we  are  often  led  to  doubt  whether  even  those  whOBA 


420  TALBOT  AND  VERNOK. 

oconpatioB8  should  make  them  familiar  with  the  details  of  art, 
are  sincere  in  their  censures  or  encomiiuns.  And  even  if  they 
were,  what  reliance  can  be  placed  on  the  judgment  of  men 
whose  criticisms  are  written,  not  to  express  their  own  true  feel- 
ings, but  to  assist  or  detract  from  a  favorite  artist  or  system — 
not  to  find  out  the  natural  and  proclaim  the  true,  but  to  tiuce 
resemblances  or  detect  differences,  to  some  other  work  or  style 
already  set  up  and  assumed  as  the^  true  ?  No  one  who  writes 
for  the  public,  simply  to  herald  works  of  art  and  gain  subsistence 
can  ever  forget  the  known  opinions  of  the  tribunal  before  which 
his  writings  are  to  be  tried.  If  a  name  be  held  in  high  estima- 
tion, but  few  daily  or  monthly  critics  dare  to  impugn  the  cor- 
rectness of  the  judgment,  or  even  to  point  out  the  errors  which 
even  the  greatest  genius  will  sometimes  commit.  A  habit  of 
believing  one  man  or  one  school  always  correct,  and  everything 
produced  by  this  favorite  always  perfect,  is  thus  formed  and 
fixed.  A  false  stsfodard  of  taste  is  erected  ;  and  the  thousands 
who  go  gaping  through  Rome  and  Florence  and  Venice,  writ- 
ing home  letters,  rapturous  of  paintings  which  they  presume  to 
be  beautiful  because  all  others  say  they  are  so,  follow  in  the 
prevailing  opinion — endorse  and  echo  it,  although  their  honest 
impressions  may  be  far  different.  Nothing  but  the  slow  lapse 
of  years,  or  a  sudden  impulse  in  another  direction,  will  change 
this  standard  ;  and  while  the  process  is  going  on,  thousands, 
who,  under  a  different  system,  or  in  another  state  of  public 
taste,  might  have  been  shining  lights  in  the  firmament  of  art, 
work  feebly,  if  at  all,  because  they  work  without  encourage- 
ment, produce  nothing  worthy  of  the  name  of  picture,  live  in 
obscurity  and  neglect,  and  finally  die  in  obscurity,  are  buried, 
nd  forgotten. 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  421 


An  artist  has  thus  to  contend  with  two  fundamental  difficul- 
ties, which  are  intpr-reactive.  The  indiflference  and  vitiated 
taste  of  those  upon  whom  he  depends  for  encouragement,  and 
the  lassitude  and  despair  which  these  produce.  It  seems  to  be 
a  condition  of  genius  that  it  shall  be  acutely  alive  to  what 
others  think  and  say;  and  thus,  as  prophecies  are  often  the 
means  of  their  own  fulfilment,  every  slighting  word  or  depreci- 
ating judgment  contributes  to  produce  its  6wn  justification. 
Sensitive  men  are  only  so  because  they  lack  self-confidence ; 
and  they  are  very  apt  to  believe  in  the  unfavorable  judgments 
of  others.  And  even  if  they  do  not  thus  believe — if,  as  is 
sometimes  the  case,  they  have  a  sublime  consciousness  that 
they  were  made  for  noble  purposes,  how  often  does  their  sensi- 
tiveness produce  disgust  and  neglect  of  their  art !  It  would  be 
a  curious  and  instructive  book,  in  which  should  be  faithfully  set 
down  the  mental  history  of  a  neglected  man  of  genius. 

Another  condition  of  genius — almost  as  universal  as  its  sen- 
sitiveness— is  poverty  ;  and,  to  aggravate  the  misfortune,  pride 
generally  accompanies  it.  Even  in  the  learned  professions,  the 
struggles  for  subsistence  of  one  who  wishes  to  rise,  are  bitter 
enough — often  resulting  in  the  resort  to  questionable  expedients, 
and  the  formation  of  habits  which  retard,  if  they  do  not  de- 
grade. Pride — the  petty  ambition  of  having  a  son  at  the  bar, 
or  in  another  profession — ^accompanied  by  poverty  too  pinching 
to  enable  the  candidate  to  await  the  slow  returns  of  his  em- 
ployment— has  ruined  more  fine  minds,  and  degraded  more 
high  moral  organizations,  than  any  other  cause,  excepting  only 
intemperance.  But  if  it  be  so  in  those  walks  of  life  in  which 
the  returns  are  comparatively  rapid,  how  much  more  destruc- 
tive must  it  be  in  the  pursuit  of  excellence  in  atl\    ^LVv^XeeA- 


423  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


ing  necessity  of  genius  is  calmness — freedom  from  every  dis- 
turbing care — in  order  that  its  inborn  majesty  may  *'  erect  itself 
in  silence  and  composure."  But  how  can  this  be,  while  it  is 
engaged  in  a  daily  harrowiug  struggle  for  bread,  while  every 
noble  conception  must  be  toned  down  to  suit  the  taste  of  those 
who  buy,  while  the  slowly  maturing  image  is  broken  into  frag* 
ments  by  the  constant  recurrence  of  petty,  sordid  cares,  and  the 
time,  for  which  the  imagination  thirsts,  to  form  or  body  forth 
its  teeming  fancies,  is  consumed  in  a  mean  inquiry  what  shall  I 
eat,  and  wherewithal  shall  I  be  clothed  ?  Grod  has  thought 
proper  so  to  order  the  good  things  of  this  life,  that  the  very 
qualities  which  dt  a  man  for  getting  money,  unfit  him  for  ap- 
preciating art ;  so  that  he  who  has  the  means  of  gladdening 
the  heart  of  the  artist,  by  giving  him  an  adequate  return  for  his 
labor,  and  thus  enabling  him  to  pursue  his  art,  has  not  the  soul 
to  appreciate  what,  in  the  artist  or  his  works,  is  really  admira- 
ble. If  he  will  waste  his  time  and  bury  his  talents,  in  paintiug 
a  senseless  portrait  of  a  face  without  expression,  he  shall  have 
money — though  even  this  he  cannot  command,  until,  by  having 
acquired  a  name,  he  has  placed  himself  above  the  want.  If 
portraits  be  not  required,  and  Dives  have  sense  or  taste  enough 
to  know  that  aught  else  can  be  desirable,  the  chances  are  a 
thousand  to  one,  that  he  will  want  the  artist  to  paint  his  fancies 
and  not  his  own — to  illustrate  history  and  poetry  in  his  wdLy^ 
and  to  paint  in  all  things  as  his  taste  requires.  And  if  there 
be  any  situation  under  heaven,  altogether  beyond  human  en- 
durance, it  is  to  want,  and  yet  be  unable  to  compass  the  means 
of  livelihood,  except  by  prostituting  talents,  given  for  noble 
purposes,  to  the  vulgar  fancies  and  opinions  of  another !  How 
many  luckless  sons  of  poverty  and  genius  have  been  thus  be- 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  423 


leagiiered  by  their  enemies,  none  can  now  imagine ;  and  how 
long  the  fight  against  the  ills  of  life  is  yet  to  last,  let  us  not 
have  the  temerity  to  conjecture. 

We  have  seen  in  the  beginning  of  our  story,  that  Allen  Ver- 
non was  one  of  the  unfortunate  ;  and  few  had  ever  drunk  deeper 
of  this  bitter  cup  than  he.  For,  added  to  the  grinding  and  ever- 
recurring  necessity  of  effort  for  bread,  was  the  never-absent  re- 
collection of  the  fancies  in  which  he  had  indulged  in  earlier  life 
— fancies  which  it  would  have  been  far  better  for  him  never  to 
have  had — which  now  only  made  him  miserable  by  their  recol- 
lection. We  cannot  say  that  he  was  a  genius  of  the  first  order  ; 
the  causes  which  combined  to  check  and  crij^le  him,  may,  for 
aught  we  know,  have  ruined  an  artist  greater  than  Michael 
Angelo ;  or  by  the  energy  which  they  brought  out,  may  have 
developed  the  only  valuable  talent  he  had.  And  it  is  precisely 
because  of  this  uncertainty  produced  by  causes,  such  as  we  have 
indicated,  that  we  lament  the  condition  of  genius. 

We  have  seen  how  Allen  bent  the  powers  of  his  mind  to  the 
exigencies  of  his  new  position  ;  we  have  seen  him  painting  por- 
traits, that  last  resort  of  the  needy  artist,  surrounded  by  all  the 
aggravations  of  his  pitiable  condition  We  have  seen  him,  also, 
once  giving  a  loose  rein  to  his  imagination,  painting  from  his 
own  conception,  a  picture  which  was  to  have  a  greater  influence 
upon  his  fortunes  than  all  the  others  of  his  works.  But  this 
was  not  the  only  occasion  upon  which  he  had  allowed  his  pencil  to 
stray  away  from  the  path  prescribed  by  his  necessities.  He  had 
painted  many  pictures  from  his  memory,  and  many  more  from 
fancy.  But  these  he  had  preserved  from  profane  eyes ;  and 
when  he  went  upon  his  eventful  expedition  to  the  seat  of  war, 
he  had  left  them,  as  we  have  seen,  where  no  e^^  m70^<^  Vy^ 


424  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


upon  thexn.  Some  of  them  were  left  unfinished  ;  and  to  these 
bis  imagination  had  wandered  while  far  away  ;  many  of  them 
he  had  already  completed  in  his  meditations,  and  he  longed 
again  to  be  at  work  upon  his  easel.  When,  therefore,  he  re- 
ceived the  key  of  his  house  from  Gil  lam,  he  hastened  away  with 
a  beating  heart,  once  more  to  look,  like  the  miser,  upon  his 
treasures. 

He  entered  the  house,  with  feelings  which  few  can  under- 
stand, and  having  locked  himself  securely  in,  proceeded  to  open 
the  closet  where  all  his  pictures  were  deposited.  One  by  one 
he  took  them  out,  pausing  upon  each,  filled  with  the  recollec- 
tions it  called  up.  First  came  a  gorgeous  Sunrise  among  the 
mountains — where,  just  peeping  through  a  grove  of  stately 
pines  upon  the  summit  of  a  cragged  ridge,  the  sun,  round,  red 
and  shorn  of  hi^  glaring  beams  by  the  filmy  haze,  was  beginning 
to  look  over  into  a  secluded  valley  ;  and,  shining  like  jewels  in 
the  morning  light,  the  dew-drops  hung  upon  the  leaves  and 
glittered  on  the  grass.  On  the  mountain  side  the  flocks  of  sheep 
were  grazing  listlessly,  and  watching  them,  a  sunny-faced  boy, 
with  his  dog  reclined  beside  him,  sat  on  the  sward,  caressing 
with  one  hand  his  beautiful  companion.  Far  down  in  the  val- 
ley, embowered  among  the  foliage  and  wearing  a  garment  of 
green  vines,  lay  a  lovely  cottage  ;  and  before  the  door  stood  a 
matron,  upon  whose  minutely-painted  countenance  sat  peace 
and  love.  A  little  stream  meandered  through  the  vale,  and, 
growing  less  and  less  in  the  hazy  distance,  at  last  vanished 
among  the  green  hills. 

This  picture  had  been  painted  from  imagination — not  a  single 
feature  had  been  copied.  And  yet  he  paused  and  meditated  over 
it,  as  if  it  were  a  painting  of  his  boyhood's  home.     Why  he  did 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  425 


so,  at  first  he  knew  not ;  for  though  a  piece  on  which  he  had 
spent  many,  many  honrs,  it  had  never  before  presented  any 
point  of  interest  above  many  others.  At  last,  however,  he  re- 
membered ;  for  in  it  there  was  a  strong  resemblance  to  the 
valley  which  he  and  Clayton  had  visited  in  search  of  Hugh. 
He  had  painted  (not  copied)  from  nature,  and  accident  had  led 
him  to  a  scene  where  all  the  features  of  his  fancy  were  thrown 
together. 

"  Can  it  be,"  be  thought,  "that  nature  and  our  powers  are 
commensurate— that  all  the  combinations  we  are  capable  of 
making,  may  be  found  somewhere  in  the  world,  precisely  as 
•we  have  painted  them  ?" 

His  conjecture  may  not  have  been  far  wrong.  At  least,  it  is 
certain  that  so  long  as  truth  is  not  violated  in  a  picture,  pre- 
cisely such  a  combination  is  possible,  and  may  actually  exist. 
The  artist  may  never  see  the  scene ;  and  yet,  in  the  most  gor- 
geous of  his  fancies,  he  may  unconsciously  be  only  transferring 
to  the  canvas  an  actual  landscape.  And  would  not  such  an 
occurrence  be  evidence  beyond  a  cavil  of  the  painter's  genius  ? 
But  of  this  Allen  never  thought ;  his  mind  was  too  full  of  me- 
mories and  cares  to  leave  him  even  this  moment  for  reflection. 
He  set  the  picture  down  with  a  sigh  in  which  came  back  his 
griefs  and  fears.  Even  among  the  shadows  of  his  mind,  free- 
dom from  care  was  not  allowed  him. 

He  took  all  the  pictures  out  and  ranged  them  round  the 
walls.  The  light  was  by  this  time  growing  dim,  and  he  went 
out  to  open  a  blind,  and  let  the  waning  sunlight  in.  At  the 
door  he  was  met  by  a  stout  gentleman  in  black,  with  a  silver- 
headed  cane  and  white  cravat.  He  approached  with  a  stately, 
8olem27  tread,  as  if  about  to  announce  a  senleacG  o\  <i^'^\}cv\ 


426  TALBOT  AND  VEQUON. 

and  on  his  count eiiaiice  eat  an  expression  as  of  the  grave.  A 
beholder  could  not  have  hesitated  to  pronounce  him  an  under- 
taker, a  doctor,  or  some  other  purveyor  to  the  tomb  ;  and  it 
was  to  the  latter  class  that  he  belonged.  Doctor  Gordon,  not- 
withstanding the  very  suspicious  solemnity  of  his  bearing,  was 
really  a  benevolent  man  and  an  able  physician.  And  though 
no  man  paid  more  especial  attention  to  the  pecuniary  branch 
of  his  profession  where  fees  were  to  be  collected,  no  man  was 
more  willing  to  relinquish  his  claims  where  a  rigid  adherence 
to  them  was  likely  to  produce  distress.  A  little  quackery  is  as 
inseparable  from  the  practice  of  medicine,  as  a  little  pedantry 
is  from  the  profession  of  a  pedagogue.  Every  physician  must 
use  a  little  clap- trap,  or  lose  his  practice  among  those  who  are 
most  able  to  pay  him  for  his  services ;  and  Doctor  Gordon, 
being  a  successful  practitioner,  was,  of  course,  not  without  this 
essential  accomplishment  of  his  calling.  He  had  been  sum- 
moned to  the  bedside  of  Allen's  father  a  few  weeks  before  his 
return,  when  attacked  by  what  the  doctor  pronounced  a  fever 
brought  on  by  an  ill-regulated  temper.  By  his  assiduous  and 
judicious  treatment,  the  old  man  had  rallied  a  little,  and  when 
Allen  returned  was  again  upon  his  feet.  The  day  after  Allen's 
return  he  had  been  prostrated  again,  though  it  was  supposed 
ojily  temporarily  ;  and  the  doctor  was  again  called  in. 

**  You  have  recovered  possession,  I  see,"  said  Gordon,  as 
Allen  stepped  forward  to  meet  him. 

'*  Yes,"  replied  the  latter ;  "  and  I  hope  to  be  established 
here,  in  the  old  way,  once  more,  as  soon  as  my  father  is  well 
enough  to  be  removed." 

"  That  will  be  but  a  short  time,"  said  the  doctor,  solemnly. 

"  I  hope  so,  indeed,"  said  Allen  ;  "  for  I  am  anxious — " 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  427 


"  You  misapprehend  me,"  interrupted  the  doctor.  "  Your 
father  will  never  be  removed  except  to  the  grave." 

Allen  started,  as  if  a  gun  had  been  fired  at  his  ear. 

"  What !"  he  exclaimed  ;  "  is  he  worse  ?" 

"  Not  much  worse  than  he  was  this  morning,"  said  Gordon  ; 
**  but  it  is  quite  plain  that  he  can  never  recover." 

Allen  was  too  much  surprised  and  grieved  to  speak.  He 
had  not  for  a  moment  contemplated  the  possibility  of  his  father's 
death. 

"  You  had,  perhaps,  better  go  to  him,"  said  the  doctor. 

"  I  ought  not  to  be  away  a  moment,"  Allen  replied  ;  and  has- 
tily locking  the  door  again,  he  hurried  away. 

**  And  they  accuse  this  young  man  of  forgery,"  said  the  doc- 
tor, musing ;  "  but  for  one,  I  do  not  believe  it." 


CHAPTER    V. 

Laertes— ^^  Where  is  my  father  ? 
JTtnf— Dead.*'— Hamlkt. 

*'  The  transition  from  sorrow  to  J07  is  easiest  in  pure  minds,  as  the  true  diamond, 
when  moistened  by  the  breath,  recovers  its  lustre  sooner  than  the  fsdse." — ^Richtek. 

" things  like  him  must  sting, 

And  higher  beings  suffer  ;  'tis  the  charter 
Of  life." — DooE  OF  Vekicc. 

At  the  close  of  a  long,  dark  day,  when  the  night  seems  about 
to  descend,  without  one  ray  to  mitigate  its  gloom,  the  clouds 
are  sometimes  lifted  like  a  curtain,  and  beneath  their  sable 
folds  shines  out  the  serenest  sunset ;  and  the  Bow  of  the  Cov- 
enant is  set  in  the  east,  spanning  the  world  in  its  arch  of  pro- 
mise. At  such  times,  the  clouds  are  all  pervaded  by  the  light ; 
we  see  far  into  their  vapory  depths,  and  can  almost  count  the  glit- 
tering drops  that  float  suspended  in  mid-air.  And  the  rain  drops 
hang  trembling  on  the  leaves,  and  the  branches  wave  gently 
in  the  evening  wind,  not  violent  enough  to  shake  them  off,  but 
only  to  present  the  thousand  colors  of  the  varying  light,  re- 
flected from  each  tiny  globe.  And  then  the  birds  come  out  and 
lift  to  heaven  their  joyful  songs,  or  flutter  and  play  along  the 
little  rivulets  left  by  the  rain.  "  The  heart  is  lifted  up  in  silent 
adoration,*'  and  the  music  of  the  heavens  and  the  earth  finds 
an  echo  of  gladness  in  the  soul. 

Like  such  an  evening  as  this,  is  sometimes  closed  a  stormy 
life ;  and  the  pilgrim  whose  way  has  been  shadowed  by  adver- 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  429 


sity,  often  finds  in  the  serenity  of  the  hour  of  death,  a  compen- 
sation for  the  gloom  of  all  the  day.  A  life  of  splendor,  gilded 
by  the  admiration  of  the  world,  too  often  closes  in  obscurity 
and  neglect ;  and  the  bitterness  of  the  passage  to  the  grave  is 
aggravated  by  the  recollection  of  the  triumphs  that  are  past. 
And  as  the  clouds  of  evening  overshadow  even  the  glory  of 
the  noonday,  so  the  mild  and  pure  serenity  of  the  sunset  may 
dispel,  or  gild  the  memory  of  all  the  storms  that  darkened  the 
meridian.  To  live  happily  and  die  in  misery,  is  a  fate  far 
■worse  than  to  live  miserably  and  die  in  peace.  For  the  mo- 
ment of  death  is  the  moment  to  which  all  life  has  been  tending, 
and  for  which  all  life  was  made.  In  natural  landscapes,  every 
smiling  plain  and  blooming  mead  is  bounded  by  the  wood, 
■within  whose  darkened  lines,  imagination  pictures  deep  ravines 
and  gloomy  shades ;  while  beyond  these  haunted  precincts,  come 
again  the  open  fields  and  flower-enamelled  plains.  And  so  it 
is  in  life — ^an  alternation  of  lights  and  shades,  the  one  but  lead- 
ing to  the  other ;  and  happy  is  he  who  dies  while  the  sun 
shines,  before  another  cloud  hath  curtained  out  the  light ! 

Thus  it  was  with  William  Vernon ;  a  life  of  bitter  disap- 
pointments w^s  drawing  to  a  close.  But  the  clouds  had  broken 
away,  and  the  sun  was  shining  bright  and  clear  along  the 
western  sky. 

His  son  sat  at  the  head  of  his  bed  and  held  his  hand,  and  the 
old  man's  eyes  were  bent  upon  him,  with  an  affection  they  had 
not  often  of  late  years  shown.  When  we  last  saw  him,  he 
was  doting  and  peevish  ;  upon  his  features  too  sat  that  imbe- 
cile and  helpless  expression,  always  accompanying  such  a  state. 
Particularly  was  this  visible  about  the  mouth — that  most  truly 
expressive  feature  of  every  face — but  it  also  d\&\Ai\.e^  c^crj 


\ 


430  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


other  point  of  bis  wrinkled  countenance.  Now,  this  was  all 
gone ;  not  a  vestige  of  his  whining  and  impotent  impatience 
could  be  traced.  As  the  objects  for  which  he  had  longed, 
faded  gradually  with  every  hope  of  earth  away,  the  effects  of 
disappointment  in  pursuit  of  them  vanished  also;  the  clouds 
which  bad  enveloped  his  mind,  binding  light  and  peopling 
shadows,  were  dissipated  by  the  light  which  shone  upon  him 
from  the  other  world ;  and  no  one  who  looked  upon  him  now, 
could  recognise  the  peevish  discontented  old  man,  in  the  calm 
serene,  and  peaceful  figure  before  him.  He  was  talking  to  his 
son,  not  querulously  as  of  old,  but  in  a  tone  denoting  resigna- 
tion ;  and  words  of  comfort  issued  from  those  lips,  from  which 
so  often  meaningless  complaints  had  come.  The  impress  of  the 
tomb  was  on  his  features,  the  hollow  sound  of  death  was  in  his 
failing  voice  ;  but  the  most  unmistakeable  evidence  of  approach- 
ing dissolution  was  this  strange  and  startling  recovery  of  all 
his  faculties,  the  sudden  change  from  discontent  to  resignation. 
It  had  taken  place,  too, almost  in  a  day;  for  when  Allen  re- 
turned, he  was  received  with  nothing  but  complaints  and  weak 
reproaches  for  being  so  long  away.  Scarcely  three  days  had 
elapsed  since  that  event,  and  now  there  beamed  from  those 
lately  restless  eyes,  nothing  but  confidence  and  affection.  His 
mind  went  back  across  the  weary  waste  of  ill-spent  years,  and 
lingered  on  the  moment  when  this  son  was  born.  He  thought 
of  her  who  bore  him,  and  his  memory  dwelt  with  tenderness, 
of  late  too  seldom  felt,  upon  the  joys  of  their  too  early  severed 
union.  He  looked  forward,  too — for  he  knew  he  had  but  a 
brief  time  to  live — and  thought  of  the  re-union,  perhaps  not 
more  than  an  hour,  in  the  future.  And  as  he  thought  of  her, 
earth  faded  from  his  eyes,  and  calmly  he  resigned  its  joys. 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  431 


"There  was  but  one  thing  1  regretted,  Allen,"  said  he  feebly, 
drawing  his  son's  hand  nearer  to  him,  **  and  that  was  that  I 
could  not  leave  you  the  wealth  I  Once  possessed.  But  I  am 
now  convinced  that  it  is  all  for  the  better,  and  I  regret  it  no 
longer.'* 

"It  is,  indeed,  father  I"  said  Allen,  anxious  to  convince  him, 
if  any  doubt  disturbed  his  mind.  "  I  shall  do  much  better 
w^ithout  it ;  and  I  only  regretted  its  loss  because  it  subjected 
you  to  privation." 

"You  are  ambitious,"  continued  the  old  man,  pursuing  his 
train  of  thought ;  "  and  if  you  were  raised  by  wealth  above  the 
necessity  of  effort,  you  might  not  succeed  so  well." 

"  I  would  not  I  know,"  said  the  son  ;  "  it  is  better  as  it  is, 


now." 


"  I  believe  it  is,"  sighed  his  father, "  though  I  could  never 
think  so.  I  was  peevish  I  think — now  since  I  can  reflect — 
and,  Allen  my  son,  I  fear  I  have  been  fretful  and  unreasonable 
with  you.  You  must  forgive  all  that,  Allen ;  for  now  you 
know  it  was  not  unkindness,  but  disappointment." 

"  Do  not  think  of  it,  father,"  sobbed  the  son ;  **  for,  indeed,  I 
have  nothing  to  forgive  " 

"  It  is  very  good  in  you  to  say  so,  Allen,"  said  the  old  man 
feebly,  **  and  I  am  glad  you  think  so  ;  it  makes  me  more  re- 
signed. If  I  could  only  live  to  see  you  free  from  this  criminal 
charge,  I  think  I  could  die  perfectly  at  peace.  Are  you  sure 
you  can  establish  your  innocence,  Allen — did  you  not  say  you 


were  sure." 


"Yes,   father,"   Allen   answered,  willing  to  exaggerate  his 
hopes,  which  in  fact  were  low  enough,  to  smooth  the  pillow  of 


433  TALBOT  AND  VEBNON. 

the  dying  man ;  "  I  think  I  shall  not  have  any  difficulty,  so  you 
need  hot  think  of  that  for  a  moment." 

"  Then  I  can  die  in  peace/*  he  whispered ;  and  as  he  spoke, 
Allen  felt  his  grasp  relax,  the  lips  ceased  to  move,  and  the  eyes 
became  fixed.  Allen  hastily  placed  his  hand  upon  his  breast, 
and  felt  for  the  pulsation  of  his  heart — but  it  had  ceased  to 
beat. 

Allen  covered  his  face  with  his  hands  for  a  few  moments; 
and  in  those  moments  came  upon  his  heart  the  full  sense  of  bis 
utter  loneliness.  He  rose,  and  calling  in  the  nurse,  retired  to  bis 
room,  to  pass  in  solitude  the  hours  of  melancholy  thought. 
Affliction  generally  makes  us  selfish,  or  apparently  so;  for 
the  adversity  or  anxiety,  which  absorbs  our  thoughts,  ne- 
cessarily excludes  all  other  things.  But  with  Allen  it  was  not  so ; 
for  during  that  long  night,  and  the  day  and  night  following,  he 
recollected  the  difficulties  of  his  situation  only  as  concomitants 
of  this  chief  affiiction^-circumstances  which  made  this  less 
endurable — and  not,  as  usual,  as  griefs  to  which  this  was  only 
an  incident.  On  the  second  day,  the  mortal  remains  of  a  dis- 
appointed, but  finally  contented  man,  were  committed  to  the 
tomb ;  and  as  Allen  turned  away,  to  seek  again  the  solitude  in 
which  alone  is  found  relief,  the  sense  of  his  *  J^ereavement 
settled  on  his  spirit  like  a  weight ;  and  all  the  scenes  and  faces 
round  him,  were  as  a  shadowy  pageant,  fleeting,  deceptive,  and 
unreal. 

But  it  was  not  his  nature  to  despair — and  it  is  only  wilful 
and  culpable  repining  which  can  find  no  amelioration  of  its 
grief.  A  week  passed  away,  and  he  was  once  more  at  his 
easel,  if  not  with  as  much  zest  as  ever,  at  least  with  the  zeal 

lich  no  true  artist  ever  loses.     He  had  turned  over  and  ar- 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  433 


ranged  a  series  of  sketches  he  had  made  in  Mexico  ;  and  one  . 
or  two  of  them  he  had  already  begun  to  paint.  He  had  thus 
laid  out  for  himself  a  whole  ye^ir's  work ;  and  yet  within  less 
than  two  months  he  must  stand  before  a  court  of  justice,  upon 
a  charge,  which,  were  he  convicted,  would  deprive  him  of  his 
liberty  for  perhaps  many  years,  and  effectually  destroy  every 
hope  in  life.  But  he  did  not  believe  he  would  be  convicted ; 
he  had  an  abiding  faith  in  liis  innocence,  and  he  felt  that  he 
would  not  be  abandoned  to  his  enemies.  He  had,  also,  a  por- 
tion of  that  reliance,  which  every  unprofessional  man  has,  in 
his  counsel;  and  he  was  confident  that  if  human  effort  could 
triumph  against  falsehood  and  malice,  he  would  certainly  be 
able  to  establish  his  innocence.  How  it  was  to  be  done,  he 
could  not  precisely  see ;  but  that  Clayton  and  Carlin  would, 
-with  the  help  of  Providence,  find  some  way,  he  was  sure. 
They  had  furnished  him  with  sureties  for  his  bail ;  and  feeling 
thus  secure,  he  abandoned  the  management  of  his  case  almost 
entirely  to  then^;  showing  nothing  of  the  fidgetty,  mar-plot 
spirit,  suitors  so  often  exhibit,  and  confining  himself  almost  ex- 
clusively to  his  own  recovered  home. 

One  bright  spring  morning,  about  a  week  after  his  father's 
death,  he  was^s  usual  seated  at  his  easel,  when  he  was  inter- 
rupted by  the  entrance  of  Mr.  Clayton.  That  gentleman,  as 
we  have  seen  was  far  more  sanguine  of.  success  in  the  contest 
before  him,  than  his  more  showy  colleague ;  and  to  him  per- 
haps  was  attributable  Vernon's  confidence.  He  had  been  in- 
defatigable in  his  preparations  and  was  anxious  to  inform  him-- 
self  precisely  of  what  he  might  expect,  even  in  matters  which 
Carlin  deemed  trivial,  and  this  morning  his  visit  was  made  in  a 

great  measure  for  such  a  purpose. 

19 


434  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 

**  I  am  sorry  to  call  your  mind  from  things  so  pleasant/'  he 
said,  as  Allen  laid  down  his  pallette  and  pencils,  ''  especially 
when  I  have  no  pleasant  suhstitute.  But  it  occurred  to  me, 
that  I  could  not  do  better  than  examine  the  precise  position  of 
^this  room.  I  do  not  know  that  it  can  do  us  any  good  ;  but  it 
tnay  be  well  to  understand  it.  Where  was  it  that  you  found 
this  unlucky  note  V* 

**  Upon  that  table,''  said  Allen,  pointing  to  the  place. 
•'  Everything  is  now  arranged  precisely  as  it  was  then." 

'*  And  what  was  it  that  Hugh  Manning  was  putting  up  ?" 

"  The  rack  in  this  closet,"  said  Allen,  opening  the  door. 

"  Strange,"  said  his  companion,  musingly,  "  if  he  did  see 
this  crime  committed  that  he  never  told  you.  But  he  may 
have  had  reasons  which  we  do  not  understand ;  or,  more  pro- 
bably, he  may  have  thought  he  had  reasons  which  he  really  had 


not." 


"  You  still  think,  then,"  asked  Allen,  *'  that  Hugh  saw  the    | 
note  signed  ?  ' 

"  I  scarcely  know  what  to  think,"  replied  Clayton ;  "  though 
we  cannot  doubt  that  he  could  give  us  some  light  if  he  were 
here." 

"  I  cannot  believe  he  would  have  been  silent,"  said  Allen. 
♦*  The  only  time  he  ever  said  a  word,  to  indicate  that  he  even 
suspected  Thorpe's  ill-will  to  me,  was  one  day  while  we  were 
on  the  excursion  that  ended  in  his  death.  And  even  that  was 
apparently  predicated  upon  facts  entirely  foreign  to  this  accusa- 
tion." 

"  What  facts?"  asked  Clayton. 

f  J  mean  suppositions,  whep  I  say  facts,"  said  Allen;  "a 


I 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  435 


supposed  state  of  things  connected  with  Miss  Talbot  and  her 
relations  to  Thorpe." 

**  I  understand,"  said  Clayton,  turning  quickly  aside  and  ex- 
aming  a  picture  which  stood  near.  "  I  asked  the  question  be- 
cause we  can  never  k?iow  that  any  two  facts,  however  wide 
apart  are  really  foreign  to  each  other.  My  experience  has 
taught  me  that  it  is  unsafe  to  act  upon  any  such  supposition ; 
for  the  discovery  of  any  third  fact  may  show  a  very  close  con- 
nection between  the  other  two,  which  we  had  determined  were 
entirely  disconnected.  And  in  this  suspicion  of  Manning's  I 
see  that  he  had  come  to  the  same  conclusion  with  Mr.  Carlin 
and  myself." 

*'  I  know  what  you  mean,"  said  Allen  ;  *'  and  you  may  be 
right-" 

**  But  you  do  not  believe  it  ?"  said  Clayton. 

**  I  did  beheve  it,"  answered  Allen,  "  but  on  reflection,  I  can- 
not reconcile  it  with  either  my  previous  knowledge  of  Thorpe, 
or  with  the  principles  upon  which  men  ordinarily  act." 

**  Do  you  recollect  what  Carlin  said  the  other  day  ?  *  Incon- 
sistency with  preconceived  notions  of  men,  the  apparent  ab- 
sence of  sufficient  motive,  or  even  the  violation  of  usual  modes 
of  action,  should  never  lead  us  to  think  men  innocent  or 
guilty.'  " 

Allen  was  disposed  to  repudiate  this  lawyer's  maxim,  and 
combatted  it  with  all  his  power.  But  to  even  his  inexpe- 
rienced mind,  its  practical  good  sense  was  not  without  its  force. 
It  may  be  true  that  men  never  act  without  motive ;  but  upon 
different  men,  inducements  act  with  such  unequal  force — some 
men  are  so  easily  moved  in  comparison  with  others— -that  we 
can  never  be  thoroughly  satisfied  whether  we  have  discovered 


436  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 

their  true  motives  or  not.  And  human  nature  is  so  infinite  in 
its  varieties  that  a  perfect  knowledge  of  each  individual  is  ne- 
cessary to  a  positive  conclusion.  Even  with  this  knowledge, 
in  cases  of  mixed  motives,  we  may  often  be  at  a  loss  to  ascer- 
tain how  far  one  inducement  operated,  what  weight  was  given 
to  another,  or  whether  in  fact  either  had  any  force  at  all. 

**  I  see  we  shall  never  agree,"  said  Clayton,  after  talking 
some  minutes ;  **  and  the  abstract  question  is  not  of  sufficient 
importance  to  justify  the  discussion.  Do  you  know  that  Major 
Bryce  has  returned  ?'' 

**  I  had  not  heard  of  it,"  said  Alien ;  "  when  did  he  surrive  V* 

"  Yesterday,  I  believe.  Would  it  not  be  well  for  you  to  call 
on  him  ?     Perhaps  he  may  have  some  tidings  of  Hugh." 

"  Of  that  there  can  be  no  hope,"  said  Allen. 

*'  Still,"  said  the  lawyer,  "  it  is  a  maxim  of  our  craft  that  a 
death  is  not  proven  until  the  corpus  be  shown ;  and  you  know 
we  could  not  find  even  a  vestige  of  Hugh." 

"  There  was  but  too  good  a  reason  for  that,"  replied  Allen. 

**  Either  one  of  two  reasons  was  good  enough,"  said  Clayton : 
"  the  fire  or  his  captivity.  I  cannot  but  hope  that  we  may  yet 
hear  of  him." 

"  I  will  call  on  the  major,  at  all  events,"  said  Allen,  «*  though 
not  with  any  hope  of  this  good  fortune.  I  may  perhaps  prove 
something  by  him,  about  the  manner  in  which  my  engagement 
to  go  with  him  to  Mexico  was  made." 

"  This  money  was  borrowed,  I  believe,  in  consequence  of  that 
engagement,"  said  Clayton. 

"  Yes,"  said  Allen  ;  "  will  that  fact  be  of.any  service  to  us  ?" 

"  I  cannot  tell,  now,"  answered  the  other.  "But,  at  any 
rate,  it  is  better  to  call  on  him  as  soon  as  possible.     Another 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  437 


thing,"  he  continued  more  rapidly,  *'  I  am  going  to  call  to-day 
at  Colonel  Talbot's,  to  ascertain  precisely  what  we  can  prove 
by  Cara.     Have  you  anything  to  say  to  her  ?" 

"  Nothing,"  said  Allen,  after  a  moment's  thought,  "  except 
that  I  am  sorry  for  the  necessity  of  calling  her  into  such  a  place 
as  a  Court  of  Justice." 

**  I  am  much  mistaken  in  her,"  said  Clayton,  "  if  she  would 
consent  to  allow  any  consideration  of  mere  timidity  to  keep  her 
away." 

After  some  further  conversation,  Clayton  left  him  to  go  to 
Talbot's ;  and  Allen  went  out  to  call  on  Major  Bryce.  We 
will  accompany  the  former. 

As  he  entered  the  room  where  Cara  sat,  there  crossed  his  face 
a  flush  of  which  he  was  'himself,  perhaps,  not  conscious ;  and 
upon  her  countenance,  also,  might  be  traced  a  consciousness, 
that  he  who  stood  before  her,  looked  upon  her  with  feelings  far 
from  indifferent.  She  observed  it,  too,  in  his  manner,  though 
he  strove  to  conceal  it ;  and  regret  mingled  with  her  thoughts. 
She,  however,  advanced  and  frankly  gave  him  her  hand,  reply- 
ing to  his  first  words  with  a  voice  whose  tremor  answered  to 
the  unsteadiness  of  her  step.  There  was  nothing  of  the  cox- 
comb in  Clayton's  nature  ;  and  he,  therefore,  ascribed  her  man- 
ner to  its  proper  cause — anxiety  and  agitation  consequent  upon 
the  danger  of  one  she  loved.  She  seemed  sad,  and  even  after 
she  had  recovered  from  the  momentary  agitation,  one  could 
have  seen  that  she  was  full  of  some  absorbing  trouble.  She 
was  dressed  as  usual,  plainly  and  simply,  and  Clayton  thought, 
perhaps  correctly,  that  about  the  simplicity  of  her  attire,  there 
Tvas  wanting  a  portion  of  her  accustomed  care  for  neatness.  An 
anxious  mind  cannot  attend  to  minor  things  with  Ih^  %\.\X!i\&^ 


488  TALBOT  AND  VEBNON. 


eure  of  cheerfulness  ;  and  nowhere  does  grief  sooner  show  itself 
than  in  the  mourner's  dress.  Indeed,  it  too  often  shows  itself  in 
the  dress,  when  it  exists  nowhere  else  ;  and  as  an  importunate 
beggar  driven  from  the  house  will  seek  a  refuge  in  the  fields  or 
outhouses,  so  sorrow,  finding  no  resting-x>lace  within  the  heart, 
takes  hold  upon  externals,  and  shows  itself  in  funeral  and  de- 
ceitful black.  Or  like  the  sun-rays  on  a  cloud,  whose  centre  they 
cannot  illumine,  seizing  firmly  on  the  skirts  and  fringes,  gilding 
them  and  hiding  from  the  world  their  natural  darkness.  It  was 
not  thus  with  Cara ;  for  she  was  unconscious  of  the  change 
which  Clayton  observed.  The  situation  in  which  Vernon  was 
placed — the  disappointment  of  hopes  so  fondly  cherished — ^her 
father's  commands  that  she  should  see  him  no  more — all  con- 
spired to  weigh  upon  her  spirits ;  and  though  none  could  be 
more  elastic,  it  was  not  strange  that  a  sadness  insensibly  came 
over  her,  and  was  visible  even  in  her  dress. 

"  I  have  been  expecting  to  see  you  for  several  days,"  she  said, 
after  a  pause.  "  Mr.  Vernon  left  the  impression  on  my  mind, 
that  the  little  I  could  tell  him  would  be  of  service  to  him." 

"  I  would  have  called  sooner  had  I  been  able,"  said  Clayton; 
"  for  what  you  speak  of  was  almost  the  first  ray  of  light  we  had, 
in  a  mystery  of  unusual  darkness." 

"  And  will  it  enable  you  to  clear  up  the  mystery  ?"  she  asked. 

"  Perhaps  not  entirely,"  he  replied,  and  her  eager  eyes  fell 
to  the  floor.  But  he  hastened  to  add  :  "  Yet  it  directs  our  ef- 
forts to  the  proper  point,  and  determines  our  minds  upon  a  cer- 
tain course  of  action — and  that  is  a  great  point  gained." 

"  It  has  enabled  you  to  find  other  evidence  then  ?" 

"  It  has  supplied  a  missing  link,"  he  replied,  «*  in  a  chain,  of 


TALBOT  AND  Y ^KON.  499 


"whicn  we  oniy  lacked  this.  Another  point  of  equal  importance 
gained,  and  our  triumph  will  be  certain.** 

"  Have  you  any  hope  of  gaining  that  point  V*  she  asked. 

'*  We  have  very  sanguine  hopes,"  he  replied,  "  of  being  able 
to  establish  Allen's  innocence — though  I  must  acknowledge  that 
the  precise  means  we  do  not  as  yet  very  clearly  see.*' 

•*  Does  he  fully  understand  his  position  ?** 

«*  Perfectly,**  answered  Clayton. 

"  And  how  does  he  bear  it — bravely  ?** 

*<  Yes,**  said  he,  "  far  more  firmly  than  could  be  expected." 

*•  Have  you  seen  him  within  a  short  time  ?** 

**  T  left  him  but  a  few  minutes  ago,**  Clayton  replied. 

"  And  did  he  send  me  no  message  ?** 

**  Nothing,  except  that  he  is  sorry  to  be  under  the  necessity 
of  ealiing  you  as  a  witness.*' 

**  Tell  him,**  said  she,  raising  her  eyes,  "  not  to  regret  it  for 
one  moment.  I  am  only  sorry  that  I  cannot  give  sufficient 
evidence  to  carry  him  safely  through  his  troubles.  If  every  one 
knew  him  as  well  as  I  do,  this  accusation  would  never  have 
been  made.** 

*•  You  are  willing,  then,**  said  Clayton — ^glad  to  draw  her 
firom  such  a  strain,  generous  as  he  was — **  You  are  willing  then 
to  allow  us  to  call  you  as  a  witness  ?** 

"  Certainly,**  she  rephed ;  "  I  would  be  false  to  every  feeling 
of  my  heart,  if  I  allowed  any  consideration  to  make  me  refuse.** 

"  Very  well,**  said  Clayton,  a  little  nervous  in  spite  of  his  ef- 
forts at  self-control ;  "  I  called  to  ascertain  precisely  what  we 
can  depend  upon  your  testifying — in  order  that  we  may  fully 
comprehend  our  position." 

A  conversation  ensued,  the  purport  of  which  tYve  xe^dL^i  V'C^ 


440  ThLBOT  AND  VERNON. 

understand  hereafter,  and  with  which  we  need  not  therefore 
trouble  him  now.     Let  us  return  to  Allen  at  Major  Bryce's. 

As  he  entered  the  room  where  he  had  been  received  the  year 
before,  he  perceived  Miss  Mary  Bryce  seated  on  an  ottoman, 
«  dressed  for  company/'  as  the  phrase  is,  and  apparently  deep 
in  the  fascinating  pages  of  a  French  novel.  She  was  very  little, 
if  at  ail,  changed  since  Allen  had  last  seen  her.  The  same  con- 
tradiction between  face  and  form  still  forced  itself  upon  the  ob- 
servation ;  but  if  there  was  any  change  in  her  appearance,  it 
was  in  the  fact  that  this  contradiction  was  less  obtrusive.  Not, 
however,  because  her  form  had  diminished  in  its  essential  char- 
acteristics of  grossness,  but  because  her  face  had  gradually  con- 
tracted a  portion  of  the  same  expression.  It  is  impossible  for  a 
delicate  mind  long  to  preserve  its  delicacy,  when  connected  with 
a  gradually  developing  animal  nature  ;  and  the  face,  which  is 
the  exterior  of  the  miad,  must  partake  of  the  internal  gangrene. 
So  it  was  with  her.  Those  who  were  constantly  beside  her, 
who  saw  her  every  day — and  all  her  acquaintances  did  that,  for 
no  day  passed  without  her  appearing  in  public — became  accus- 
tomed to  the  change  while  it  was  taking  place,  and  w^ere  not 
conscious  that  she  was  different  from  what  she  had  been  years 
before.  Those,  however,  who  had  been  absent,  though  for  k 
few  months  only,  could  see  a  very  sensible  change.  Vernon 
had  not  seen  her  for  nearly  a  year ;  and  he  at  once  observed 
that  the  indulgence  of  indelicate  tastes  and  ungentle  passions, 
was  fast  stealing  away  even  the  small  remains  of  beauty  he  had 
seen  in  her  during  his  former  acquaintance.  Perhaps  an  ex- 
ample of  those  tastes  might  have  been  found  in  the  pages  of  the 
book  before  her.  At  all  events,  she  either  was,  or  appeared  to 
be,  deeply  engrossed  ;  for  Allen  had  entered  and  walked  nearly 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  44I 


serosa  the  room  before  she  seemed  to  notice  him ;  and  when 
she  did  so,  it  was  with  a  start  and  a  little  scream,  which  to  a 
more  experienced  man  would  have  appeared  rather  too  theatrical. 

"  Mr.  Vernon !"  she  exclaimed,  with  a  tragic  air,  first,  how- 
ever, hiding  the  book  under  the  sofa-cushion,  "  how  glad  I  am 
to  see  you !     I  began  to  think  you  had  forgotten  us!" 

"  Far  from  it,"  said  Allen,  pleased  with  the  frankness  of  her 
reception— for  of  late  he  had  felt  as  "  a  marked  man" — "  I 
should  have  done  myself  the  honor  of  calling  sooner,  had  it 
not  been  for  circumstances — " 

"Oh I  don't  mention  them!"  she  implored,  placing  her  fat, 
red  hand  upon  bis  arm,  and  convulsi  vely  grasping  it,  as  if  even 
the  mention  of  the  **  circumstances"  was  likely  to  end  her  use- 
ful life.  "  It  is  too  infamous,"  she  continued,  "that  men  should 
make  such  odious  charges !"  And  she  again  lifted  up  those 
hands,  and  her  head  drooped  back  and  a  little  to  one  side,  her 
eyes  rolled  up  to  the  ceiling,  and  she  grieved  over  the  iniquities 
of  the  world. 

"  I  alluded  to  the  death  of  my  father,"  said  Allen,  "  which 
occurred  only  three  days  after  my  return." 

"  Oh !"  she  exclaimed,  gasping  alarmingly,  and  again  dash- 
ing her  hands  up.  But  before  she  could  say  more,  the  door 
-was  opened,  and  a  soft  voice  pronounced  her  name.  She  turn- 
ed away,  recovering  immediately  from  what  Allen  began  to 
fear  was  a  fainting  fit,  and  with  an  apology  left  the  room. 
Allen  seated  himself,  and  waited  several  minutes  ;  he  then  got 
up  and  examined  the  pictures  upon  the  wall,  looked  out  of  the 
window,  turned  over  the  books  on  the  table,  and  resorted  to 
every  other  allowable  expedient  to  kill  time  in  such  a  situation. 
Half  an  hour  went  past,  but  Mary  djd  not  return^  not  d\d  ^si-^ 


442  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 

one  else  enter  the  room.  Ten  minutes  longer  elapsed,  and  the 
door  was  at  last  opened.  A  servant  girl  stepped  within,  and 
addressed  him  in  these  words— 

'<  Mrs.  Bryce  bids  me  say,  that  the  major  will  not  be  at 
home  for  several  hours  ;  but  if  you  will  return  at  four  o'clock 
you  may  probably  find  him." 

'<  There  was  a  half- insolent  smirk  on  the  girl's  face,  which 
told  more  plainly  than  words,  that  she  understood  tfie  purport 
of  her  message.  Allen  replied  not  a  word ;  but  passed  out, 
and,  in  bitterness  of  spirit,  left  the  house.  At  the  door  he  met 
Thorpe,  but  they  passed  each  other  with  a  cold  bow ;  for  both 
began  to  feel  that  cordiality  between  them  was  entirely  mis- 


CHAPTER    VI. 

**  Oh !  happy  thej  that  never  saw  the  court.'*— Wbbstbb. 

**  Virtue  mutt  be  thrown  off ;  'tis  a  a  coarse  garment, 
Too  heavj  for  the  sunshine  of  a  court."— Drtdeit. 

*'  Ktj'dAj  !  what  a  sweep  of  yanity  comes  this  way  I^—Tiicoir  or  Atbbits. 

Six  weeks  passed  away,  seeming,  to  Allen,  scarcely  longer 
than  as  many  days.  After  his  bitter  slight  at  Major  Bryce's, 
he  secluded  himself  almost  entirey  at  home — visiting  no  one  and 
receiving  none  except  Clayton.  Once,  indeed.  Manning  called 
to  ask  the  particulars  of  his  son's  death.  Allen  related  them  as 
circumstantially  as  he  could,  and  the  old  man  went  away  with- 
out a  word  of  acknowledgment.  But  Allen  forgave  this  rea- 
dily ;  for  the  worn,  sorrow-stricken  look  of  the  old  man  pre- 
cluded resentment.  It  was 'plain  that  he  had  forgotten  the 
forgery  while  he  was  with  Allen  ;  and  it  was  still  more  evident 
that  he  cared  not  for  any  further  injury  that  could  be  done  him. 
With  bent  form  and  feeble  step  he  went  away,  and  Allen  saw 
no  more  of  him.  But  Clayton  told  him  chat  the  money-lender 
was  no  longer  what  he  had  been.  The  objects  for  which  he 
had  toiled  had  lost  their  value ;  and,  as  if  conscious  that  the 
woi|)d  would  not  know  him  long,  he  had  begun  a  new,  and  for 
him,  strange  life.  He  had  closed  his  counting-room,  opening 
it  only  to  receive  the  money  due  him,  and  expending  large 
sums  as  he  received ^hem  in  profuse  and  generous  charities. 
The  houfe  of  God,  too,  to  the  aisles  of  which  his  feet  had  so 
long  been  strangers,  be  now  frequented  regTv\w\7  \  ^\A  %tB»o% 


444  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 

all  the  throng  who  wore  the  garb  of  piety,  none  were  more 
devoted   than   the  money-lender.     He  seemed  to  be  striving 
earnestly  to  redeem  an  ill-spent  life  ;  and  although  the  worldly 
vanity  which  often  leads  the  followers  of  Christ  to  triumph 
more  over  the  conversion  of  a  wealthy  sinner,  than  over  the 
reclamation  of  a  hundred  poor  ones,  might  lead  some  to  exces- 
sive  exultation  over   his  accession  to  their  ranks,  surely,  if 
aught  can  justify  the  feeling,  it  is  the  conversion  of  an  usurer — 
the  diversion  of  a  stream  of  gold  from  the  miser's  chest  to  the 
coffers  of  the  church !     As  he  entered  the  house  of  worship 
with  a  feeble  step,  scores,  who  had  let  the  poor  and  pious  pass 
them  unnoticed,  and  seat  themselves  uncared  for  on  the  altar 
steps,  were  alert  in  opening  their  pews  to  invite  him  to  a  seat 
upon  their  velvet  cushions ;  for  they  respected  him  doubly — as 
a  convert,  firstly ;  and  secondly,  and  most,  as  a  rich  convert. 

But  Vernon  heard  of  these  things  only  through  Clayton  ;  for 
he  scarcely  ever  went  abroad,  and  when  he  did,  it  wbs  only  for 
few  brief  moments.  His  paintings  were  companions,  and  his 
own  thoughts  occupied  him  quite  enough.  For  several  weeks 
he  had  held  no  consultation  even  with  his  lawyers  ;  everythiag 
they  could  hope  for  had  been  elicited,  and  the  line  of  their  de- 
fence was  settled.  Clayton  had  written  letters  to  the  com- 
mandants of  every  post  in  Mexico,  making  inquiries  alxfut* 
Hugh,  and  requesting  them  to  take  steps  to  ascer^in  his  fate, 
But  to  several  of  these  answers  had  come,  announcing  that  ni  ' 
tidings  were  to  be  gathered.  At  last  the  regiment  was  ordeied 
home  ;  and  Hugh's  companions  brought  accounts  of  his  death 

* 

at  Rinconada,  so  circumstantial  and  detailed  that  no  ro6m  was 

f 
left  for  doubt  or  hope.     Nothing  now  remained  but  to  make 

the  best  defence  they  could  ;  for  the  only  chance  of  ^ticcess  la> 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  445 


ia  a  rigid  cross-examination  of  the  prosecutor's  testimony,  and 
in  the  hope  of  casting  doubt  upon  the  transaction  through  the 
evidence  to  be  given  by  Cara  Talbot.  If  these  failed,  there 
was  no  hope  except  in  the  executive;  and  a  pardon  for  an 
offence  which  he  had  not  committed,  Allen  would  not  receive 
if  it  were  offered. 

He  was  fully  cognizant  of  his  position;  for  Clayton  had 
opened  to  him  the  extent  of  his  danger.  And  yet  he  pursued 
his  labors  with  unabated  zeal — even  hastening  to  finish  a  pic- 
ture he  was  painting,  as  if  he  expected  to  be  cut  short  by  the 
sentence  of  the  law.  It  cannot  be  denied,  that  now  and  then  a 
pang  of  deep  sorrow  shot  through  his  heart,  with  the  reflection 
that  he  was  about  to  be  condemned  unjustly-— even  the  utmost 
despair  of  which  men  are  susceptible,  cannot  wholly  exclude 
the  thought  of  what  others  will  think ;  and  it  was  in  view  of 
the  anticipated  blackening  of  his  name,  that  he  felt  sick  at 
heart.  Cara,  too,  beautiful  and  loving,  was  always  before  bis 
eyes ;  and  the  bitterest  of  his  grief  was  their  separation.  He 
sometimes  received  from  her  messages  of  encouragement ;  but 

.   h«r  father's  prohibition  prevented  his  ever  seeing  her,  or  even 

^  returning  a  message  of  more  than  ordinary  acknowledgment. 
He  was  alope  in  the  worst  sense  of  loneliness — separated  from 

« wlftit  he  mosVloved^ 

But  few  of' hit  former  friends  had  called  upon  him;   and 

"  tflese,  more  as  they  would  hav^  gone  to  see  some  spectacle  of 
<N||r^«interest,  than  as  meeting  a  former  friend.  He  was  evi- 
dentbf  sm  object  of  curiosity  to  them,  and  his  sensitive  nature 
shrank  ftom  such  contact.  He  received  them,  therefore,  coldly ; 
and  their  visits  were  not  repeated.  Probably  this  would  have 
been  so  ha^  he  met  them  cordially;  for  tbey  cam^xvoWo  %ft^ 


>   ♦■ 


446  TALBOT  AND  VESNOM. 

Mr.  VernoD,  but  the  reputed  forger.  Of  all  the  hundreds  who 
had  made  his  house  a  thorough&re,  in  the  days  of  his  honest 
£une,  not  a  score  had  stepped  within  its  threshold  since  his  re- 
turn ;  and  though  they  were  right  enough  to  stay  away — for 
the  evidence  against  him  was  convincing — he  felt  their  deser- 
tion far  more  keenly  than  he  should.  Major  Bryce  had  started 
several  times  to  call  on  him ;  for  the  major  was  really  a  man  of 
kind  feelings ;  but  he  had  never  succeeded  in  reaching  the 
door.  In  the  first  place,  the  major  had  a  suspicion  that  Allen 
had  not  been  well  treated  while  at  his  house  ;  and  feeling  the 
need  of  an  apology,  he  was  still  at  a  loss  how  to  make  it.  The 
major  was  a  timid  man,  moreover,  always  afraid  of  the  world's 
opinion,  as  was  indicated  by  his  pompous  manner,  and  he  was 
doubly  so  now,  because  his  fortunes,  although  recruited  by  his 
official  position  in  the  army,  like  his  health,  had  been  failing  for 
several  years ;  he  felt  insecure,  as  a  man  does  who  feels  the 
sand  on  a  wet  beach  giving  way  beneath  his  feet.  The  major 
was  in  debt,  and  it  was  not  wonderful  that  he  shrank  from  any- 
thing which  promised  to  compromise  him  even  slightly.  But 
above  all,  the  major  owed  Allen  for  his  services  in  Mexico  in 
his  department ;  and  though  he  had  the  money  it  would  not  now 
be  convenient  for  him  to  pay  it ;  for  some  reason,  which  we 
must  leave  to  the  imagination  of  the  knowing  reader,  he  would 
rather  wait  until  his  accounts  should  be  settled  with  the  gov- 
ernment ;  and  being  a  conscientious  man,  he  was  afraid  that,' 
if  he  found  himself  once  in  Allen's  presence,  he  would  be  in- 
clined to  pay  him,  whether  his  creditor  introduced  the  subject 
or  not.  For  these,  and  other  reasons  which  we  cannot^^tay  to 
catalogue,  the  major  kept  away;  and  sincerely  hoping  that 
Vernon  would  be  acquitted  of  the  charge  against  him,  he  was 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  447 

nevertheless  too  timid  to  give  him  the  support  of  his  presence 
and  coontenance,  when  he  needed  it  most.  Whether  these  or 
similar  motives  operated  upon  others,  we  do  not  know ;  but 
certain  is  it,  that  eight  weeks  after  Allen's  return  from  Mexico, 
he  found  himself,  (excepting  Clayton's  visits,)  as  solitary  as  a 
hermit. 

Things  were  in  this  situation,  when  one  Sunday  evening 
Clayton  informed  him,  that  on  the  following  day  was  to  com- 
mence the  session  of  the  Court  which  was  to  decide  his  fate. 
It  was  not  without  a  thrill  of  excitement  that  he  heard  this  an- 
nouncement, calmly  as  he  had  awaited  the  day — no  man  can 
be  otherwise  than  excited  in  a  crisis  whose  contingencies, 
thongh  they  affect  him  alone,  depend  upon  others.  The  gam- 
bler who  bets  upon  a  game  played  by  another,  is  far  more  ex- 
cited than  if  he  played  himself.  But  with  Allen  the  excitement 
-was  short-lived  ;  and  when  on  the  following  day  he  entered  the 
court  room,  and  looked  around  upon  the  motley  crowd  always 
in  attendance  in  such  places,  his  eye  was  as  calm  and  the  beat- 
ing of  his  heart  as  regular,  as  if  he  had  no  stake  in  the  game 
about  to  be  played,  by  the  legal  gamesters  before  him. 

When  he  entered,  the  judge  was  not  yet  on  the  bench ;  and 
the  members  of  the  bar  were  lounging  about  that  tabooed  pre- 
cinct, some  smoking,  some  talking  and  laughing,  some  pouring 
over  long,  ill-written  papers  or  large  calf-bound  books,  and  all 
big  with  the  ponderous  interests  depending  upon  them,  and 
the  eloquence  and  learning,  with  which  they  were  **  crammed" 
for  the  occasion.  A  crowd  was  collected  in  the  room,  impa-  ' 
tiently  awaiting  the  opening  of  the  court,  during  the  progress 
of  which  many  expected  cause  for  exultation,  many  feared 
defeat ;  and  a  still  larger  number  neither  wished  fot  %\x^^<^*^ 


448  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


nor  feared  defeat,  but  only  came  to  pick  up  an  occasional 
fee  as  jurymen,  when  the  panel  should  be  exhausted,  and 
laugh  over  the  agonies  and  foul  passions  of  other  men,  when 
dissected  and  laid  bare  by  the  merciless  operators  within 
the  bar.  Many  were  witnesses,  also ;  and  the  idle  lawyers 
were  scanning  their  motley  faces,  with  many  shrewd  remarks 
as  to  whether  this  man  could  ^peak  the  truth  with  such  a 
face,  whether  that  were  not  a  witness  of  a  false  cUiln,  or 
another  the  leading  witness  of  a  malicious  prosecution.  They 
all  agreed — and  those  who  were  most  experienced  were  most 
decided  in  the  opinion — that  there  were  in  that  crowd  at  least 
fifty  perjurers  ready  to  be  sworn,  and  at  least  fifty  more  false 
oaths,  to  be  taken  innocently,  under  the  influence  of  mistake, 
forge tfulness,  prejudice  and  confusion.  Among  the  suitors,  too, 
there  was  variety  enough  ;  but  it  was  the  variety  of  the  same 
species — ^just  as  the  leopard  and  the  cat  are  of  the  same  species, 
differing  only  in  particulars.  With  a  few  honorable  exceptions, 
they  all  bore  the  marks  of  litigiousness  upon  their  faces — a  mix- 
^re  of  obstinacy,  cunning  and  dishonesty,  which  is  so  constantly 
before  the  lawyer,  that  he  almost  thinks  an  honest  face  a  lusus 
natura.  Here  was  the  sturdy  farmer,  litigating  with  his 
neighbor  about  a  division  fence,  whose  position  would  never 
have  been  disputed,  but  for  a  quarrel  about  a  neighberhood 
road  ;  and  now  both  were  willing  to  sink  their  paternal  acres 
in  a  cost-bill,  rather  than  give  an  inch  of  land  for  peace.  Here 
stood  a  knavish  horse-trader,  brought  here  by  his  dupe  to  ex- 
piate his  sharper-tendencies,  and  swallow  up,  in  fees  and  costs, 
the  value  of  both  the  horses  traded. 

"  I  say,  Joe,"  said  one  of  the  younger  members  of  the  Bar  to 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  449 


another,  '^  isn't  that  the  fellow  that  sued  Tom  Carter  for  slan- 
der ?» 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  other  ;  "  why  ?" 

''  If  he  wants  any  damages,  he  had  better  not  make  profert  of 
himself  before  the  jury,"  said  the  first. 

**  You  think  his  face  a  letter  patent,  authorizing  him  to  com- 
mit whatsoever  crime  he  may  have  been  charged  with  ?" 
laughed  the  Other. 

*^  Or,"  rejoined  the  first,  "  a  mandamus  from  the  High  Court 
of  Heaven,  commanding  him  to  do  it,  as  a  condition  of  his  be- 
ing." And  both  the  wits  laughed  loudly  at  their  own  conceit. 
And  the  object  of  the  jest — a  black-browed  fellow,  with  small 
watery  gray  eyes — showed  his  teeth  in  a  complacent  grin,  ut- 
terly unconscious  that  he  had  furnished  the  matter  of  their 
amusement. 

Beside  this  fellow  stood  an  old  ofiender  against  all  laws  of 
**  mine  and  thine;"  and  he  too  laughed  pleasantly  with  the 
lawyers,  though  out  of  earshot — for  all  such  people  think  it  best 
to  keep  terms  with  the  lawyers,  never  knowing  "  what  a  day 
may  bring  forth."  Behind  this  last  was  standing  a  notorious 
usurer,  tall,  hook-nosed,  and  stooping  ;  and  as  his  little  gray  eyes 
wandered  over  the  merry  group  of  la^x^ers,  it  was  astonishing 
to  see  how  much  alike  were  the  three  pairs  of  optics  in  this 
little  group.  Here  was  a  "  young  and  tender'*  rascal,  who, 
having  married  one  of  the  heirs  of  a  man  of  moderate  wealth, 
was  now  in  court  to  get  a  partition  of  his  real  estate,  so  that  her 
portion  might  follow  the  ready  cash  she  had  inherited  ;  and 
bashfulness,  and  fear,  and  cunning,  each  reigned  alternately  in 
his  face.  Not  far  from  him  was  seen  a  red-faced  man,  whose 
first  object  was  to  escape  by  "  hoolror  crook" — ox  \^  iVi^X.  vj^^ 


450  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 

not  practicable,  then  to  "  stave  oflf " — the  debts  for  which  he 
stood  defendant  here  ;  and  he  was  now  protesting  various  good 
intentions,  if  he  could  only  get  a  little  time,  &c.,  all  of  which 
his  legal  auditor  believed — of  course. 

Neither  Clayton  nor  Carlin  was  in  the  room  when  Allen  en- 
tered, nor  could  he  see  Thorpe  among  the  crowd  ;  although  that 
gentleman  was  seated  quite  near  him,  talking  in  the  lowest 
tones,  to  a  man  in  a  broad-brimmed  white  hat,  who  looked  as 
if  he  might  influence  some  votes.  Allen  walked  back  from  the 
Bar,  ascending  several  steps  which  led  to  a  kind  of  amphitheatre 
upon  which  the  seats  for  spectators  were  arranged.  These  and 
the  galleries  were  all  filled  by  men,  except  the  rearmost  tiers ; 
and  along  those  were  seated  some  twenty  or  thirty  ladies,  at- 
tracted, perhaps,  by  interest  in  some  cause  to  be  tried  during 
the  present  term.  Their  attendance  was  not  unusual  there — 
and  it  is  a  pity  it  is  not  more  common  in  other  places — but,  un- 
familiar as  was  Allen  with  courts,  he  felt  abashed  by  their  pre- 
sence, suspecting  that  they  had  been  attracted  by  the  hope  of 
hearing  his  trial.  He  was  not  far  wrong  either  ;  for,  excepting 
a  few  who  resort  to  every  public  place  merely  to  find  a  crowd 
and  be  observed,  there  was  not  one  among  that  score  of  rustling, 
fluttering  spectators,  who  would  have  been  there  that  day  for 
any  other  reason. 

At  the  end  nearest  Allen  sat  Maria  Thorpe,  and  next  to  her 
Mary  Bryce.  And  as  he  walked  unconsciously  nearer  them 
the  former  turned  away  her  head  with  a  glance  of  great  dis- 
dain, and  the  latter  imitated  her  as  best  she  could,  by  throwing 
her  fat  hands  up  towards  the  ceiling — a  geoture  which,  the 
reader  already  knows,  was,  with  her,  expressive  of  even  oppo- 
site emotions.     The  acting  was,  however,  not   perceived  by 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  461 


Vernon,  and,  therefore,  was  soon  terminated — being  succeeded 
by  a  very  deep  breath,  which  threatened  hooks-and-eyes  and 
corset  string  most  imminently.  Allen's  attention  was  riveted 
by  a  form  some  distance  from  him,  on  the  same  tier  ;  for  be- 
Death  the  close  hood  and  under  the  folds  of  a  plain  green  veil, 
he  thought  he  recognized  one  bpt  too  well  known.  It  was  a 
lady  dressed  in  plain  black,  with  nothing  to  distinguish  her 
from  others  to  a  common  eye,  except  a  hand  of  most  exquisite 
mould  and  whiteness,  which  held  away  the  the  veil  to  enable 
her  to  see  the  crowd  before  her.  That  hand  was  not  a  stranger 
to  him  ;  and  though  it  held  the  gauze  in  such  a  manner 
as  to  conceal  from  him  the  face  that  corresponded  with  it,  he 
knew  each  feature  of  that  face  and  saw  them  graven  in  his 
memory  as  plainly  as  if  nothing  interposed. 

It  was  Cara,  gazing  anxiously  among  the  crowd,  where  she 
expected  him  to  be.  Gradually  she  turned  her  face  towards 
the  spot  where  he  stood,  with  his  eyes  eagerly  bent  upon  her 
hand.  The  veil  was  thrown  back,  and  her  peerless  beauty  en- 
hanced rather  than  diminished  by  a  slight  paleness,  was  re- 
vealed in  all  its  fullness.  At  the  same  moment  her  eyes  met 
his,  and  she  shrank  suddenly  back  as  if  in  alarm ;  but  the  next 
moment  she  half  raised  up  as  if  to  go  to  him ;  and  again  she 
sank  bank,  her  face  flushed  crimson,  and  her  hand  trembling  so 
much  that  she  could  scarcely  draw  down  her  veil,  while  she 
returned  Allen's  deep  salutation. 

"  Who  is  that  that  Vernon  is  bowing  to?"  said  Mary 
Bryce  ;  and  she  leaned  forward  to  look  along  the  row  of  faces, 
until  her  head  touched  the  shoulder  of  a  man  in  front  of  her ; 
but  the  veil  was  down  too  soon,  she  could  not  gratify  her  curi* 
Oflity. 


462  TALBOT  AND  VEBNON. 

She  had  not,  however,  given  it  up  ;  and  probably  would  not 
have  done  so,  if  she  had  been  forced  to  lean  upon  the  shoulder 
of  every  man  in  the  house,  had  she  not  been  diverted  >by  some- 
thing more  engrossing — ^when  her  attention  was  attracted  by  a 
movement  at  the  door.  Those  who  were  leaning  on  the  rail- 
ing round  the  bar  precipitately  fell  back,  and  through  the  pas- 
sage thus  opened  walked  the  judge,  so  impatiently  expected. 
He  was  a  tall,  thin  man,  with  gray  hair  and  a  massive  coun- 
tenance, whose  chief  expression  was  severity.  He  bad  risen 
from  the  humblest  rank  of  his  profession,  through  no  other 
talents  than  those  which  are  classed  under  the  word  energy, 
and  with  no  particular  recommendation  except  an  inflexible 
love  of  justice.  One  would  suppose  that  this  would  have  been 
the  quality  of  all  others  best  fitting  him  for  his  station ;  but  the 
lawyers  thought  not  so.  "  For,"  said  they,  "  a  judge  sits  on 
the  bench  to  administer  the  law,  what  the  experience  of  ages, 
and  the  wisdom  of  many  able  judges,  has  determined  is  most 
just  in  the  long  run,  and  not  to  administer  what  his  notions 
may  mistake  for  justice.  The  length  of  a  man's  foot,  accord- 
ing to  Coke,  would  be  as  safe  a  measure  as  his  ideas  of  justice, 
by  which  to  be  guided  in  judgment ;  as  one  man  has  a  long 
foot  and  another  a  short  foot,  so  one  man's  notion  of  justice 
may  be  broad  and  another's  limited.  Admit  this  principle,  and 
with  each  successive  judge  you  have  a  new  code  of  laws ;  in 
the  end  you  will  find  it  had  been  better  even  to  have  had  a  par- 
tial and  sometimes  unjust  system,  to  which  men  might  become 
accustomed,  than  this  no-system  at  all."  But  whether  they 
were  right  or  not.  Judge  Lansing  was  universally  respected 
as  a  clear-headed  and  upright  man.  And  when  he  took  his 
seat  upon  the  bench,  and  gravely  set  his  hat  beside  him,  the 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  463 

murmur  which  had  filled  the  room  ceased  entirely,  or  fell  to  a 
\irhi8per.  The  lawyers  seated  themselves  decorously,  took  oflf 
their  hats,  and  threw  away  their  cigars — the  clerk  opened  his 
^esk  and  fumbled  with  his  papers,  and  the  sheriff  proclaimed 
the  opening  of  the  term. 

Immediately  behind  the  judge  came  several  members  of  the 
bar,  and  among  them  Clayton  and  Carlin,  with  another — a 
short  man,  of  some  forty  years  of  age,  whom  Allen  heard  with 
some  interest  named  as  Mr.  Elliot,  the  State's  Attorney.  They 
all  took  their  places  without  noticing  the  crowd  around  them  ; 
apparently  unconscious  that  hundreds  of  eyes  were  directed 
upon  them,  and  that  hundreds  of  hearts  fluttered  with  excite- 
ment, in  anticipation  of  what  each  one  was  to  say  and  do  be- 
fore the  end  of  the  term. 

The  grand  and  petit  juries  having  been  called,  the  former 
sworn,  charged,  and  sent  about  their  business,  and  the  latter 
enjoined  to  remember  the  overwhelming  importance  of  their 
functions,  "  and  not  part  the  court  without  leave,"  the  judge, 
who  seemed  for  going  through  the  docket  at  a  gallop,  addressed 
the  gentlemen  of  the  bar. 

**  I  shall  first  call  the  people's  docket,  gentlemen,"  said  he, 
'*  and  the  counsel  for  the  defence,  in  each  case,  will  please  state 
whether  or  not  they  are  ready  for  trial.  The  prosecution  are 
ready,  of  course," 

**  The  court  will  consider,"  commenced  Elliot,  jumping  to 
his  feet — 

«*  The  court  will  consider  nothing,  sir,"  said  the  judge,  tartly 
interrupting  him,  "  which  is  likely  to  delay  the  administration 
of  justice." 

"  Of  course  not ;  but — " 


464  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 

"  And,"  continued  the  judge,  not  heeding  him,  «*  it  is  the 
right  of  every  defendant  to  have  a  speedy  trial.  It  is  presumed 
that  those  who  exhibit  charges  are  always  ready  to  prove 
them.  The  People  vs.  Smith — who  is  for  Smith  ?  Are  you 
ready  for  trial,  sir  V* 

«*  I  believe  not,  sir,**  said  a  lawyer,  rising,  "  but  we  will  try 
to  be  by  the  middle  of  the  week." 

"  Set  for  Wednesday,"  said  the  judge,  writing  on  his  docket. 
"  The  People  vs,  Harrison." 

**  In  that  case  I  enter  a  motion  for  a  continuance,"  said 
another. 

**  File  your  affidavit,  then,"  said  the  judge,  **  and  let  it  be 
disposed  of  now." 

The  lawyer  scratched  a  few  hieroglyphics  on  a  piece  c^ 
paper,  told  his  client  to  swear  to  it,  filed  it  without  letting  him 
read  it,  and  the  continuance  was  granted. 

*'  The  People  vs,  Thomas,"  read  the  judge. 

'*  We  are  willing  that  a  plea  of  guilty  shall  be  entered  te 
the  first  count  in  the  indictment,  if  Mr.  Elliot  will  strike  out  the 
other,"  said  Mr.  Carlin,  rising  slowly  from  his  chair. 

"  I  have  no  objections,"  said  Elliot. 

''  Let  it  be  entered,"  said  the  judge  ;  and  by  paying  his  fine 
for  one  offence,  the  man  got  rid  of  two  others  ;  the  State's  At- 
torney avoided  a  contest  with  a  formidable  antagonist,  and  Car- 
lin's  indolence  was  gratified  by  winning  his  fees  without  an 
effort. 

"  The  People  vs,  Allen  Vernon,"  said  the  judge. 

"  In  that  case,"  said  Thorpe,  rising  calmly  from  a  corner  of 
the  court  room,  "  on  the  part  of  the  prosecution,  we  are  ready 
for  trial."  ' 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  456 


**  What  say  the  defence  ?"  asked  the  judge. 

**  We  are  not  quite  ready,"  said  Clayton,  rising  in  his  turn  ; 
«*  but  I  think  we  will  be  if  allowed  a  week  to  prepare." 

"  A  week !"  Thorpe  exclaimed.  "  That  would  be  equivalent 
to  a  continuance ;  and  if  delay  is  the  object,  we  demand  that 
the  motion  be  made  now." 

**  We  have  no  disposition  to  delay  the  matter  unreasonably," 
said  Clayton,  mildly ;  "  but  we  claim  a  moderate  time  for  pre- 
paratioa." 

<*  You  are  entitled  to  that,  of  course,"  said  the  judge ;  but 
seeing  Vernon  come  forward  and  talk  eagerly  to  Clayton,  be 
waited  his  further  action. 

"Of  course  you  desire  no  delay,"  said  Clayton  in  answer  to 
Allen ;  "  I  knew  that  all  the  time."  Then  turning  to  the  judge 
he  continued  :  "  If  the  court  please,  Mr.  Vernon  has  just  told 
me  that  he  desires  nothing  more  than  a  speedy  and  impartial 
trial.  His  counsel  could  have  wished  a  little  more  time  ;  but 
he  is  extremely  averse  to  remaining  longer  under  this  impu- 
tation ;  and  he  therefore  instructs  us  to  say,  that  we  will  be 
ready  for  trial  to-morrow  morning." 

"  Set  for  to-morrow  morning,  first  case,"  said  the  judge  writ- 
ing ;  and  immediately  the  house  began  to  thin — most  of  those 
present  being  there  only  to  hear  Allen's  trial.  A  smile  passed 
between  the  old  members  of  the  bar  as  the  order  was  made — a 
smile  of  intelligence,  not  of  derision;  for  those  experienced 
tacticians  understood  full  well  that  the  argument  of  the  case 
"was  already  commenced — was  commenced  by  Clayton. 

"  Adjourn  court  till  to-morrow  morning,  nine  o'clock." 

'*  Pretty  well  done !"  said  Carlin,  as  they  left  the  court-house 
together. 


456  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


tt 


tt 


»*  What  ?"  asked  Clayton. 
Your  opening  of  the  case,'*  answered  the  elder. 
It  was  opened  by  Thorpe  before  me,*'  said  his  junior, 
**  though  I  was  glad  of  the  opportunity  to  make  a  favorable  first 
impression.  The  theory  of  the  trial  by  jury  supposes  a  per- 
fectly independent  tribunal,  in  which  twelve  men,  totally  unin- 
fluenced by  the  opinions  of  others,  sit  in  judgment  on  the  tes- 
timony alone.  But  it  is  not  in  the  nature  of  things,  that  twelve 
men,  or  any  other  number  of  men,  should  be  so  completely 
isolated  as  not  to  see  and  feel  the  prevailing  opinion  in  the  by- 
standers. Though  no  demonstration  of  approval  or  of  disap- 
probation be  made — though  neither  word  nor  act  nor  gesture 
may  indicate  a  preference,  yet  soinething  in  the  very  atmos- 
phere, something  in  the  looks  of  the  crowd,  conveys  to  a  jury, 
as  infallibly  as  words  could  do,  a  knowledge  of  what  others 
think  and  feel.  And  independent  as  jurymen  may  be,  it  is  im- 
possible— absolutely  impossible — that  they  should  not  be  affect- 
ed by  the  knowledge.  Men  have  an  instinctive  shrinking  from 
opposition  to  what  is  called  public  sentiment,  and  a  correspond- 
ing desire  to  be  with  their  neighbors  in  opinion.*' 

"  And  hence,"  said  Carlin,  taking  up  the  thread — **  and  hence 
arises  the  importance  of  making  first  impressions  favorably, 
even  upon  the  bystanders,  not  one  of  whom  will  have  any 
direct  influence  in  the  decision.** 

People  who  know  nothing  of  law  and  lawyers  except  from 
novels — where  there  is  generally  necessary  to  the  development 
of  the  plot,  some  one  who  combines  villainy  with  such  know- 
ledge and  capacity,  as  only  lawyers  have — such  people  will 
say,  that  this  theory  of  Clayton's  was  only  part  of  a  system  of 
trickery,  and  the  practice  under  it  only  a  legal  mode* of  coveriog 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  457  ^ 

tip  the  truth.  But  those  who  object  to  legal  subtlety  because 
corrupt  men  sometimes— often — ^make  it  subservient  to  bad 
ends,  may,  with  equal  reason,  discard  every  good  thing  on 
earth.  The  cause  of  religion  suffers  because  evil  men  will 
"  steal  the  livery  of  heaven  to  serve  the  devil  in  ;"  but  it  only 
suffers  because  men  are  habitually  illogical— confounding  the 
thing  itself  with  its  semblance  or  abuse,  pronouncing  the  truth 
a  lie  because  a  liar  pretends  to  believe  it. 


CHAPTER    VII. 

^  At  thou  urgest  juttice,  be  astured 
Thoa  thmlt  have  Juttioe,  more  than  thoa  detir'tt"— Mekcbaht  or  YciacK. 

"  A  villain,  when  he  most  leems  kind, 
It  most  to  be  sospected/' — ^Lansdowite. 

"  They  speak  our  ruin,  too,  who  speak  us  fair."— Young. 

'*  The  man  that  once  did  sell  the  lion^s  skin 
While  the  beast  lived,  was  killed  with  hunting  him.''— Hxitst  V. 

The  administration  of  justice  in  a  court  of  law,  depends 
upon  about  as  many  chances  as  the  combination  of  numbers 
turned  up  by  throwing  a  set  of  dice.  The  three  "  sixes  "  may 
come  up  and  leave  nothing  to  wish  for ;  but  the  probabilities 
are  at  least  equal,  that,  on  lifting  the  box,  we  may  see  three 
•*  aces,''  leaving  everything  to  be  wished  for.  Many  very  moral 
people  have  a  wholesome  horror  of  everything  like  "  games  of 
chance  ;'*  and  far  be  it  from  me  to  question  the  propriety  of 
such  feelings  I"  But  for  consistency's  fake,  I  would  fain  have 
them  remember,  that  many  of  the  things  which  they  not  only 
tolerate,  but  even  commend,  are  not  less  dependent  upon  what 
they  call  "  chance,"  than  the  rolling  of  an  ivory  cube,  or  the 
turning  of  a  card.     Strictly  speaking — 

"  Chance  can  do  nothing  ;  there  is  no  turn  of  earth 

No  !  not  the  blowing  of  the  summer  wind, 
Or  the  unstable  sailing  of  a  cloud, 
But  YiaASd  a^  'wVW  Vb»X  otdatt  it'  > 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  459 


And  the  occurrences,  which  we  call  chances  or  accidents, 
appear  so  to  us,  only  because  they  were  by  our  feeble  foresight 
unforeseen,  and  were  to  our  limited  power  apparently  unavoid- 
able. But  as  in  the  illustration  above,  each  combination  of  the 
dice  depends  upon  the  position  of  the  cubes,  and  the  exact  de- 
gree of  force  and  direction  in  throwing  them,  which,  if  we  under- 
stood, we  should  have  no  difficulty  in  always  throwing  what  we 
wish  ;  so  in  every  affair  of  life :  every  effect  depends  upon  its 
cause ;  and,  though  too  often  we  would  have  no  power  to 
change  that,  yet,  if  we  understood  it,  we  could  always  foresee 
the  result,  and  would  discard  "accidents"  and  "chances'*  from 
our  vocabulary.  But  our  powers  are  limited  as  our  knowledge 
is  shallow ;  and  so  long  as  they  remain  so,  every  affair  of  life  • 
vrill  depend  upon  these  so-called  chances.  In  passing  from  one 
room  to  another — nay,  in  crossing  the  room  we  are  in — we 
may,  "by  accident,"  fall  and  break  our  neck;  but  this  is  no 
reason  why  we  should  sit  still  in  our  chairs  forever.  For  when 
we  sit,  some  "  accident"  may  happen  which  will  terminate 
our  lives,  and  which  by  walking  across  the  room  we  might 
have  avoided.  We  are  constantly  environed  by  chances — that 
is,  we  are  in  the  midst  of  a  forward-moving  world  ;  and  we  can 
no  more  stop  its  march  by  sitting  still,  than  we  can  by  walking 
about.  '*  Leave  as  little  as  possible  to  chance,"  says  the  prac- 
tical philosopher  ;  and  yet  the  very  effort  to  leave  nothing  to 
chance,  may  itself  depend  upon  a  thousand  chances  of  which 
we  know  nothing.  It  is  not  in  endeavoring  to  control  chances, 
that  is,  in  striving  to  guide  events  of  whose  causes  we  know 
nothing,  and  whose  occurrence  we  therefore  cannot  foresee, 
that  true  practical  wisdom  consists.  It  is  rather  in  "  taking 
advanta^  of  accident" — in  skilfully  allowing  ouiBeVv^s  Xo  \a 


4eo  TALBOT  AND  VBBNOK. 

guided  by  what  we  do  not  understand,  and  cannot  therefore  con- 
trol— that  we  find  the  path  to  success. 

To  this  kind  of  wisdom,  no  class  of  men  are  more  alive  than 
lawyers.  For  they  learn  by  long,  and  sometimes  bitter,  expe- 
rience, that  the  utmost  they  can  do,  is  to  be  prepared  for  what- 
ever may  occur  ;  to  open  their  eyes  wide,  to  see  whatever  may 
pass  before  them,  and  keep  their  faculties  on  the  stretch  to  turn 
every  chance  to  account.  In  an  ancient  tournament  or  tilt,  the 
slipping  of  a  horse's  foot,  might  give  the  adversary  a  victory,  jf 
he  were  vigilant  and  active  ;  but  if  he  was  tardy  or  negligent 
in  taking  advantage  of  the  accident,  the  moment  might  be  lost 
forever,  and  the  victory  never  be  gained.  Thus  it  is  in  courts 
of  law,  and  thus  will  it  ever  be,  when  the  ordering  depends 
upon  human  sagacity  and  honesty. 

The  inadvertence  or  forgetfulness,  the  prejudice  or  dis- 
honesty of  a  witness  may  be  so  exhibited,  as  that  one  un- 
practised in  such  things  might  detect  it  by  merely  reasoning 
upon  probability.  But  far  oftener  it  is  so  concealed,  that  even 
the  long-tried  acuteness  of  professional  men  is  at  fault :  when 
nothing  but  the  most  intense  watchfulness,  and  the  most  unhe- 
sitating promptness,  well  be  of  the  least  avail.  In  circumstances 
like  these,  what  would  not  one  of  those  blind  and  prejudiced  re- 
vilers  of  the  lawyers  give  to  have  a  clear-headed  barrister  at  his 
side  ?  Men  are  often  attempted  to  be  made  the  victims  of 
perjury  and  persecution,  and  the  very  consciousness  of  the  fact, 
unfits  them  for  defence;  what,  when  thus  situated,  y^ould 
tempt  the  prosecuted  to  give  up  the  vigilant,  experienced,  and 
able  adviser  who  watches  over  his  interests  ?  If  the  class  of 
men  reviled  as  lawyers  were  stricken  from  existence,  the 
courts,  which  are  even  now  scarcely  better  than  temples  of  for- 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  46^ 


tune,  would  at  once  become  mere  mockeries  of  justice,  and  their 
decisions  would  be  as  uncertain,  as  if  controlled  by  the  turning 
up  of  these  same  ivory  cubes ! 

But  with  all  the  sagacity  and  experience  of  lawyers,  courts 
are,  as  we  intimated  above,  uncertain  and  not  to  be  depended 
upon ;  and  the  trial  by  jury,  justly  the  boast  of  the  common 
law,  is  an  institution  partaking  not  sparingly  of  the  prevailing 
uncertainty  of  all  human  things.  The  causes  which  make  it 
so  are  as  inevitable  as  are  those  which  would  make  a  court, 
were  this  institution  abolished,  and  the  lawyers  prescribed, 
what  we  have  before  said — a  hall  where  physical  strength 
w^ould  be  as  just  a  measure  of  administration,  as  that  no-mea- 
8ure  which  would  instantly  be  adopted. 


Long  before  the  hour  appointed  for  the  opening  of  the  court, 
a  large  and  eager  crowd  had  assembled — probably  in  precisely 
the  same  spirit  which  would  have  brought  them  together  to  see 
a  bull-fight  or  a  bear-baiting.  Among  them  might  be  recog- 
nized many  of  the  faces  which  had  gazed  so  eagerly  down  from 
the  elevated  benches  the  day  before ;  the  most  of  those  who 
had  left  the  court-house  when  the  time  of  Allen's  trial  was 
fixed,  had  now  returned,  and  with  them  had  come  many  more, 
moved  by  the  same  curiosity.  The  upper  tiers  of  seats,  too, 
weriB  filled  by  ladies  in  greater  numbers  than  on  the  day  before ; 
and  as  Allen  entered  and  cast  his  eyes  almost  involuntarily  to 
the  point  where  Cara  had  sat  before,  he  again  observed  the 
plain  black  dress,  the  close,  small  bonnet  and  the  drawn  veil, 
which  hid  the  pale  face  of  her  whose  heart  beat  far  more 
tumultttously  at  this  crisis  than  even  his.  This  time,  however, 
the  pej)  was  not  withdrawn,  the  face  was  not  iev^*\ed\  t^ft 


462  TilLBOT  AND  VERNON. 

sign  told  him  that  his  presence  was  noted.  No  sign  told  him — 
no ;  but  had  he  seen  the  heart  within,  could  he  have  felt  the 
pulse  which  throbbed  so  full,  he  would  have  known  that  his 
entrance  was  not  unheeded.  She  had  been  looking  for  him 
long,  had  nerved  herself  to  draw  aside  her  veil  and  smile  her 
confidence  and  love,  she  was  determined  that  no  consideration 
should  induce  her  to  act  as  if  she  felt  the  faintest  fear  or  dis- 
trust ;  she  resolved  to  let  all  the  world  see,  if  they  wished, 
that  she  at  all  events  had  not  prejudged  him ;  but,  when  he 
came  actually  before  her,  and  the  moment  for  her  courage  had 
arrived,  her  hand  trembled  too  much  to  allow  her  to  draw  away 
the  veil ;  she  felt  that  her  face  was  too  much  flushed  to  be  un- 
covered ;  and  with  a  self- reproachful  pang,  she  sat  still  under 
his  wistful  gaze,  and  let  him  pass  without  a  sign  of  recognition 
or  encouragement.  She  almost  hated  herself  for  it  a  moment 
afterwards ;  but  it  was  then  too  late  ;  he  had  entered  the  bar 
and  seated  himself  beside  Clayton,  with  his  back  towards  her, 
and  was  engaged  in  earnest  conversation.  She  had  resolved  to 
be  firm,  and  the  resolution  of  such  a  nature  is  of  some  avail ;  but 
the  crowd  scared  her,  the  anticipation  of  what  was  to  come, 
and  yet  could  not  be  hastened,  agitated  and  unsettled  her. 
Could  she  have  been  called  at  once  to  the  stand,  and  sworn  now 
in  the  presence  af  the  assembled  multitude,  she  felt  that  she 
would  be  calm.  But  the  protracted  waiting,  the  deferred  ex- 
pectation, the  uncertainty,  the  interest  at  stake,  all  combined  to 
shake  her  nerves.  She  drew  a  deep  breath,  however,  as  Allen 
sat  down  out  of  her  sight,  and  determined  to  be  calm.  Situated 
as  she  was — alone,  unsupported,  afllicted,  and  alarmed— calm- 
ness would  have  been  a  great  triumph.  The  lady  who  sat  be- 
side her — some  commonplace  acquaintance — chattered  like  a 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  463 


xnagpie,  ceaselessly — about  the  court,  about  the  lawyers,  the 
judge,  the  crowd,  and  worst  of  all,  about  Allen.  She  wished 
Cara  to  point  out  to  her  the  man  to  be  tried,  and  seemed  sur- 
prised when  Cara  replied  simply — **Ido  not  see  him.*'  This 
was  becoming  serious  ;  she  was  about  to  move  to  another  seat, 
where  she  could  possess  her  soul  in  silence,  if  not  in  peace, 
when  her  movement  was  arrested  by  the  appearance  of  the 
judge.  Cara  gazed  at  him  with  an  interest  which  no  judge 
had  ever  inspired  in  her  before ;  she  thought,  in  her  ignorance, 
that  it  was  he  who  was  to  decide  a  question,  to  her  most  im- 
portant. 

Gillam,  the  sheriff,  stepped  forward  at  a  nod  from  the  judge. 

"  Oyes  !  Oyes  /"  he  proclaimed.  "  This  court  has  now  met 
pursuant  to  adjournment."  And  immediately  all  hats  came  off, 
and  the  hitherto  careless-looking  lawyers  sank  noiselessly  be- 
side their  desks,  and  forthwith  became  the  most  absorbed  men 
in  the  world.  The  crowd  settled  themselves  gradually  in  their 
seats,  leaning  back  and  making  themselves  comfortable  for  a 
long  sitting.  Many  of  them  drew  out  quids  of  tobacco  and  fill- 
ed their  cheeks,  so  that  they  might  give  their  whole  attention 
to  the  court.  The  shuffling  of  feet  and  cracking  of  benches 
gradually  subsided,  while  the  judge  and  the  sheriff  concurred  in 
frowning  ominously  at  the  dense  crowd,  and  the  clerk  looked 
inquiringly  at  the  former  for  orders  to  read.  As  the  noise  di- 
minished, which  it  did  very  fast  when  the  people  caught  a  sight 
of  the  clouded  brow  of  the  judge ;  that  cloud  gradually  disap- 
peared ;  and  when  it  had  become  so  still  that  the  busy  pens  of 
the  lawyers  might  be  heard  all  over  the  house — (what  noisy  pens 
some  lawyers  have,  by  the  bye  !) — he  turned  with  a  grave  fiAce 
nnd  nodded  to  the  clerk.     The  sheriff,  w\io  Yi^d  XiOiX  ivnw  %\.Q^ 


464  TALBOT  AND  VEBNOV. 

forward,  like  a  mastiff  before  his  master,  waiting  for  a  hiss  to 
spring  upon  his  enemy,  observing  that  the  judge  was  satisfied, 
cleared  his  brow  and  quietly  sat  down. 

The  record  occupied  but  a  short  time,  during  w^hich  the 
crowd  sat,  impatiently  awaiting  the  spectacle  they  had  come  to 
see.  The  clerk  put  away  his  book  and  sat  down,  and  all  eyes 
were  turned  upon  Thorpe  who  arose  and  announced  that  the 
prosecution  were  now  ready  to  proceed  with  the  case  of  the 
People  vs,  Vernon. 

<*  Have  the  defence  any  preliminary  motion  V*  asked  the 
Judge. 

**  No,  sir,'*  said  Clayton,  slowly  rising  and  unfolding  a  paper 
which  appeared  to  be  a  copy  of  the  indictment.  **  We  had  in- 
tended to  enter  a  motion  to  quash  the  indictment — which  is 
manifestly  defective  in  several  points — but  our  client  instructs 
us  that  he  does  not  wish  to  avoid  a  trial  upon  any  technical 

point  of  law.  All  he  desires  is  a  fair  trial,  in  which  the  issue 
shall  be,  is  he  guilty  or  innocent.  But  our  duty  requires  that 
we  should  so  make  up  the  record  as  not  to  prejudice  his  inter- 
ests.^ We  are  therefore  willing  that  the  motion  should  be  en- 
tered and  overruled  without  argument." 

"  That  is  scarcely  usual,"  said  the  judge.  "  Perhaps  on  con- 
sultation you  will  conclude  to  argue  the  motion  ?" 

"  They  are  too  well  aware  of  its  futility,"  said  Thorpe,  with 
a  sneer. 

"  Our  object,"  said  Clayton,  calmly,  "  is  to  bring  the  real 
perpetrator  of  this  crime  to  speedy  punishment ;  and  upon  a 
motion  to  quash  we  cannot  introduce  evidence  to  this  end.  We 
ask,  therefore  that  the  motion  may  be  entered." 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  465 


**  We  consent  to  the  course  he  suggests,"  said  the  State's 
attorney. 

*'  Let  it  be  so  entered,"  said  the  judge.  "  Are  you  ready 
for  trial  V* 

Both  parlies  answered  in  the  affirmative. 

"  Call  the  jury,  then,"  said  the  judge ;  and  while  the  clerk 
'was  arranging  his  lottery  of  names  the  crowd  settled  back  once 
more  into  their  seats — satisfied  that  they  were  not  to  be  balked 
of  their  sport  by  the  interposition  of  anything  formal  or  tech- 
nical. They  had  felt  as  a  crowd  of  spectators  at  a  Spanish 
bull-fight  might  be  supposed  to  feel,  when  accident  prevents  the 
appearance  of  the  bull ;  and  they  now  felt  as  the  same  crowd 
would  feel  when  the  zeal  of  the  managers  has  provided  a  sub- 
stitute. 

«*  "What  the  deuce  does  Clayton  mean  by  throwing  away  his 
chances  in  this  way  ?"  asked  a  junior  member  of  the  bar  of  his 
neighbor. 

"  He  must  have  *  two  bullets  and  a  bragger,*  answered  the 
other,  drawing  his  illustrations  from  another  game,  which  oc- 
cupied far  more  of  his  thoughts  than  the  legal  game,  his  osten- 
sible occupation. 

"  But  somebody  may  have  *  the  age*  of  him,"  said  the  other, 
winking  as  if  he,  too,  was  familiar  with  that '  other  game.* 

His  neighbor  made  no  reply,  but  leaned  back  against  the 
wall,  and  closing  his  eyes,  betook  himself  to  slumber — a  re- 
freshment far  from  unnecessary,  since  that  *  game*  had  usurped 
the  most  of  sleep's  appropriate  hours  on  the  night  preceding. 
Several  of  the  lawyers  gathered  up  their  papers,  and  to  the  as- 
tonishment of  the  eager  crowd,  walked  leisurely  and  indifferent- 


SO* 


406  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 

ly  out  of  court — feeling  no  interest  in  any  contest  of  which  they 
were  not  combatants. 

Meantime  the  routine  of  calling,  swearing,  and  examining 
the  jurors  went  slowly  on.  Many  were  rejected  because  they 
had  already  formed  opinions,  some  were  peremptorily  challenged, 
some  challenged  for  <  cause,*  and  not  a  few  either  because  their 
faces  did  not  promise  well,  or  because  they  had  been  known  to 
be  refractory  or  wrong-headed  on  previous  juries.  Some  were 
challenged  by  the  prosecution  because  the  defence  seemed  too 
willing  to  take  them  ;  and  in  one  instance  Clayton  had  abstain- 
ed from  questioning  a  juror  whom  he  did  not  want  to  take,  in 
order  that  he  might  save  one  of  his  own  challenges,  by  induc- 
ing the  other  party  to  send  him  away  on  suspicion.  The  stra- 
tagem was  successful,  and  the  point  was  gained.  Some  sharp 
conversation  passed  between  the  counsel,  the  judge  interposed 
as  if  to  quell  a  threatened  outbreak,  and  each  party  sat  quietly 
down,  smiling  covertly  at  the  dullness  of  any  in  supposing  them 
agitated  or  incensed.  Each  was  endeavoring  to  exasperate  the 
other,  to  secure  an  advantage  over  him  ;  and  both  failed  com- 
pletely. The  crowd  expected  to  see  a  regular  pitched  battle ; 
but  the  lawyers  smiled  incredulously,  and  the  sheriff  never  took 
his  feet  from  the  table  where  he  had  comfortably  deposited 
them.  At  last  the  tiresome  ceremony  was  over — all  the  twelve 
jurymen  answered  to  their  names — and  the  crowd  again  settled 
themselves  in  their  seats. 

**  Go  on,  gentlemen,''  said  the  judge,  and  Thorpe  rose  to  open 
the  case  for  the  prosecution.  In  the  State  where  these  scenes 
are  laid,  it  is  not  the  practice  among  lawyers  to  waste  much  of 
their  eloquence  in  opening  statements ;  yet  they  are  not  insen- 
sible to  the  importance  of  making  first  impressions  favoral^e- 


I 


TALBOT  AND  VEENON.  467 


as,  I  believe,  they  are  not  anywhere.  And  they  accordingly 
endeavor  to  make  such  statements  as  will  serve  their  purposes, 
gain  the  ears  of  the  jury,  and  not  directly  conflict  with  what 
they  know  the  testimony  will  establish.  Sometimes,  indeed, 
the  opening  statement  is  as  unlike  the  truth  as  possible — more 
unlike  than  even  a  contrary  statement  would  be — and  yet  the 
outlines  are  still  the  same  ;  the  difference  is  only  in  the  coloring. 
A  skilful  advocate  may  so  distort  the  truth — without  adding  or 
diminishing  a  single  fact — that  even  those  who  themselves  gave 
the  information  will  not  recognize  the  story ;  and  I  doubt 
not  that  hundreds  of  instances  have  occurred,  where  witnesses 
listened  to  comments  upon  their  testimony,  which  entirely 
changed  its  purport,  and  yet  were  unable  to  say  in  what  parti- 
cular its  integrity  had  been  violated.  So  in  the  kind  of  state- 
ments were  are  speaking  of :  An  advocate  presents  an  outline 
of  the  evidence  as  he  expects  it  to  be  given  ;  he  states  the  ma- 
terial facts  precisely  as  they  are  to  be  proven  ;  but  by  unwar- 
rantable inferences,  innuendos,  and  accessories,  totally  changes 
the  effect  of  the  story  ;  the  witnesses  hear  it  and  inwardly  as- 
sent to  the  truth  of  the  outline ;  they  take  new  views  of  the 
testimony  they  are  to  give  ;  their  minds  have  received  a  coloring, 
and  it  is  ten  chances  to  one  that  this  parallel  statement  may  so 
run  in  their  minds  as  to  warp  and  falsify  everything  they  say. 
It  is  therefore  the  interest  of  the  advocate^  to  study  well  his 
opening  statement ;  for,  although  it  may  not  directly  influence 
the  verdict  of  a  jury,  who  hear  all  the  testimony  together,  it 
may  so  tinge  the  minds  of  the  witnesses,  when  they  are  al- 
lowed to  hear  it,  as  indirectly  to  secure  a  favorable  verdict. 

Thorpe  understood  this,  as  well  perhaps  as  any  man  alive  ; 
mad  his  statementa  were  therefore  generally  constructed  with 


468  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 

infinite  art.  On  the  present  occasion,  however,  he  knew  that 
but  little  could  be  gained  and  much  might  be  lost  by  over- 
refining.  He  knew  that  his  witnesses  were  men  whom  his  art 
could  not  influence,  and  he  knew  that  he  was  closely  watched 
by  men  fully  equal  to  the  task  of  exposing  his  artifice.  He  was 
therefore  careful  to  appear  candid  and  open.  His  manner  was 
that  of  a  man  who  performs  an  unpleasant  duty,  but  performs  it 
resolutely,  though  kindly.  His  voice  was  pitched  low ;  and  its 
notes,  always  musical,  now  became  feeling  and  regretful.  His 
words  were  spoken  calmly  and  almost  reluctantly.  He  seemed 
to  be  uttering  the  honest  convictions  of  his  heart ;  and  no  one 
there  who  did  not  know  him  thoroughly,  would  for  a  moment 
have  suspected  that  he  was  engaged  in  one  of  the  most  pleasing 
occupations  that  had  ever  called  him  before  a  jury.  No  one 
there  saw  the  hatred  rankling  in  his  heart,  the  fell  determina- 
tion to  crush  a  rival,  the  thirst  of  revenge  which  moved  him 
to  the  consummation  of  his  purpose. 

"  Gentlemen  of  the  jury,"  said  he,  "  you  are  empannelled  to 
try  an  issue,  in  whose  decision  you  will  pronounce  upon  the 
guilt  or  innocence  of  the  prisoner  at  the  bar,  charged  with  the 
high  crime  of  forgery.  You  occupy  a  responsible  position, 
gentlemen ;  you  have  undertaken  a  duty,  for  the  faithful  per- 
formance of  which  you  will  have  to  answer  to  the  community 
of  which  you  are  a  part,  to  the  offended  laws  of  the  land,  and 
to  your  own  consciences.  I  know  this  responsibility  must 
appear  to  you  a  heavy  one,  and  in  truth  it  is  so.  But  its 
weight  will,  I  think,  be  in  no  small  degree  diminished  by  the 
knowledge,  that  you  have  a  plain  path  open  before  you,  leading 
not  obscurely  to  a  conclusion.  If  you  feel  that  to  pass  upon 
the  liberty  of  this  young  man  be  an  ungrateful  task,  the  pain  of 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  469 


the  reflection  cannot  but  be  diminished  by  the  knowledge  that 
he  has  justly  incurred  the  penalty  you  are  called  upon  to  inflict. 
If  the  case  were  a  doubtful  one,  gentlemen — if  there  could  be 
the  least  doubt  of  the  prisoner's  guilt — while  the  conflict  would 
be  embarrassing  to  you,  it  would  be  a  relief  to  rae ;  for  I  as- 
sure you,  could  I  hesitate  for  a  moment  in  coming  to  a  conclu- 
sion upon  the  testimony,  I  should  not  be  here  as  prosecuting 
counsel. 

"  One  of  the  most  unpleasant  things  in  the  life  of  a  lawyer 
is  his  being  often  placed  in  positions,  where  his  duty  requires 
him  to  resist  and  dispute  the  claims  of  those  for  whom  he  feels 
friendship.  How  much  more  irksome  must  this  duty  be,  gentle- 
men, when  it  falls  to  his  lot  to  prosecute,  for  an  infamous  crime, 
one  for  whom  he  has  cherished  respect  and  even  attachment ! 
I  feel  embarrassed  on  the  present  occasion  by  these  considera- 
tions— considerations,  for  alluding  to  which,  since  they  are  per- 
sonal to  myself,  I  must  claim  your  indulgence. 

«  Were  this  a  common  case,  gentlemen,  I  should  make  no 
such  allusions.  But  it  is  not  so.  It  is,  on  the  contrary,  pecu- 
liar in  all  its  phases.  It  is  a  crime  very  seldom  committed,  be- 
cause easy  of  detection  and  punished  severely  ;  and  in  this  case 
it  has  been  committed  under  peculiar  circumstances.  The 
manner  of  its  commission,  the  motive,  the  time,  the  persons 
upon  whom  committed,  and  the  relations  of  the  prisoner  to 
those  persons,  are  all  alike  singular.  But  the  strangest  of  all 
the  strange  things  connected  with  the  case,  is  the  reckless  and 
hardened  openness  with  which  the  fraud  was  perpetrated. 
Though  this  openness,  gentlemen,  may  tend  to  disembarrrass 
you,  and  is  in  that  view  fortunate,  it  is,  in  another  view,  unfor- 
tunate, since  it  canaot  but  shake  that  salutary  coti&3l«xi<»  va 


470  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


human  nature,  once  held  by  those  who  would  far  sooner  have 
suspected  each  other  of  this  crime  than  the  prisoner  at  the 
bar  :  since  it  gives  a  painful  lesson,  teaching  how  abandoned 
may  be  the  hearts  of  those  with  whom  we  are  in  daily  conver- 
sation, and  who  possess  our  unlimited  confidence.'' 

He  proceeded  to  give  a  clear,  and  withal  nearly  impartial,  ac- 
cotint  of  what  the  evidence  was  to  be  ;  remarked  briefly  upon 
circumstantial  evidence,  giving  it  justly  the  first  rank  in  the 
scale  of  testimony,  and  closed  his  address. 

<<  In  conclusion,  gentlemen,"  he  said,  <*  1  have  to  repeat  that 
no  one  will  rejoice  more  sincerely  than  we,  if  the  prisoner  at 
the  bar  shall  be  able  to  establish  his  innocence.  But  so  Ions:  as 
this  damning  array  of  evidence  remains  unexplained,  we  can 
hope  for  no  such  result." 

He  sat  down,  and  Clayton  rose  to  open  the  defence. 

"  We  are  not  disposed,  gentlemen,"  said  he,  "  to  attempt  to 
better  our  case  by  forestalling  the  testimony ;  since,  after  all, 
your  verdict  must  depend  upon  what  is  proven.  The  plea,  as 
you  have  heard,  is  "  Not  Guilty  ;"  and  the  truth  of  this  plea  we 
expect  to  establish  by  evidence,  and  not  argument  or  oratory. 
We  shall  certainly  not  controvert  anything  said  by  the  counsel 
for  the  prosecution,  in  support  of  circumstantial  evidence ;  and 
if,  in  the  course  of  this  trial,  we  give  no  example  of  its  force — 
if  we  afibrd  no  opportunity  to  the  counsel  to  apply  his  theory — 
we  will  be  content  to  abide  a  verdict  against  us." 

With  this  brief  and,  to  both  spectators  and  lawyers,  inexpli- 
cable address,  he  sat  calmly  down — quietly  nodding  to  Thorpe 
to  proceed. 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

Let  it  work — 
For  'tis  the  sport,  to  have  the  engineer 
Hoist  with  his  own  petard ;  and  't  shall  go  hard, 
But  I  will  delve  one  yard  below  their  mines, 
And  blow  them  at  the  moon." — Hamlet. 

As  Clayton  finished  his  short  address  and  sat  down,  a  close 
observer  might  have  seen  a  slight  paleness  overspread  Thorpe's 
cheek,  for  a  very  brief  moment ;  but  an  effort  to  command  him- 
self was  at  once  successful ;  he  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and 
gazed,  with  the  most  disengaged  air  possible,  over  the  dense 
crowd,  now  filling  every  seat.  His  eye  fell  upon  Cara's  face, 
shown  for  a  moment,  as  she  drew  aside  her  veil  to  observe  what 
was  going  forward.  A  calm,  though  somewhat  cynical  smile 
played  around  his  mouth,  and  lit  up  his  eyes ;  but  he  turned 
them  from  her,  and  seemed  to  be  absorbed  in  watching  the 
crowd,  while  his  colleague,  the  State's  attorney,  called  the 
names  of  the  witnesses. 

Major  Bryce,  John  (Colonel  "John")  Talbot,  and  Uriah 
Manning  were  called,  and  all  sworn  together.  The  two  latter 
were  told  to  sit  down,  and  the  first  was  called  to  the  stand.  Up 
to  this  time,  deep  as  had  been  the  interest  in  the  case,  there  had 
been  a  ]ow  murmuring  in  the  courts  whioh  all  the  efforts  of 


472  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 

Gillatn  and  his  deputies  were  insufficient  to  silence  ;  but  as  the 
major  took  the  stand,  it  entirely  ceased.  Every  eye  was  bent 
upon  him ;  and,  as  if  he  knew  it  and  enjoyed  his  importance,  be 
erected  himself  pompously,  and  looked  proudly  around  upon  the 
crowd.  The  attorney  for  the  State  commenced  the  examioa- 
tion,  while  Thorpe  still  gazed  out  over  the  Bar. 

"  I  wish  you,  major,"  said  he,  "  to  tell  the  jury  whether  or 
not  you  were  acquainted  with  Allen  Vernon  in  May  of  last  year." 

"  I  was,  sir,**  said  the  major  ;  "  he  went  to  Mexico  with  me.** 

"  Yes,**  said  the  attorney  ;  "  will  you  now  relate  to  the  jury 
what  conversation  took  place  between  you  in  regard  to  that 
trip  ?'* 

"  I  will,  sir.  It  had  been  suggested  to  me  that  Mr.  Vernon 
would  make  a  good  clerk  in  my  department  in  the  arm}*- ;  and 
accordingly  I  made  a  proposition  to  him,  which  he  accepted. 
There  was,  however,  one  difficulty  in  the  way ;  his  father  was 
old,  and  unable  to  support  himself  during  his  son*s  absence  ;  and 
Allen  said  he  would  have  to  borrow  the  money  to  support  him. 
I  asked  him  from  whom  he  could  borrow  it ;  and  on  finding  he 
did  not  know,  I  suggested  the  name  of  Mr.  Manning,  as  one 
from  whom  he  would  probably  be  able  to  get  it.  I  asked  him, 
at  the  same  time,  what  security  he  would  be  able  to  give  ;  and 
he  answered  that  a  mortgage  upon  his  house  was  the  only  se- 
curity in  his  power.  I  suggested  personal  security ;  he  said  he 
knew  of  no  one  whom  he  could  ask,  but  added  that  my  offer 
(of  the  clerkship)  was  so  advantageous  that  nothing  should  pre- 
vent his  getting  the  money.** 

"  He  was  determined  to  have  the  money  at  any  cost,  then  ? ' 
eaid  the  attorney. 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  473 


"  He  seemed  so,  sir,"  said  the  major,  "  if  I  might  judge  by 
what  he  said." 

"  Well,"  continued  the  lawyer,  **  was  this  all  he  said  ?" 

"  It  was  all  he  said  at  that  time.  A  short  time  afterwards 
he  came  to  me  to  ask  when  we  would  probably  leave  for  the 
seat  of  war ;  and  in  the  course  of  the  conversation,  he  informed 
me  that  he  had  succeeded  in  borrowing  the  money  he  wanted." 

"  Did  he  tell  you  how  he  had  succeeded  ?" 

"  No  ;  I  asked  him  ;  but  he  either  did  not  hear,  or  thought 
proper  not  to  notice  my  question,  and  I  said  no  more." 

'*  How  long  was  Vernon  with  you  in  Mexico  ?" 

"  Between  seven  and  eight  months,"  said  the  major. 

"  Did  you  ever  recur  to  this  subject  ?" 

"  Yes,"  he  replied  ;  "  once,  and  but  once :  I  asked  him  how 
he  had  raised  the  money  to  support  his  father  during  his  ab- 
sence. He  did  not  appear  very  communicative — indeed,  he 
seemed  averse  to  talking  about  it — and  replied  that  a  friend  had 
kindly  consented  to  endorse  for  him." 

"  Did  he  tell  you  who  that  friend  was  ?" 

"  He  did  not ;  and  though  I  said  something  equivalent  to  a 
question,  he  made  no  reply,  and  soon  afterwards  left  me.  I  in- 
ferred that  he  did  not  wish  to  talk  about  it,  and  therefore  never 
recurred  to  the  subject." 

"  You  will  be  so  good,  major,"  said  Carlin,  blandly,  "  as  to 
give  the  jury  the  benefit  of  your  knowledge  only — reserving 
your  inferences  for  some  place  where  they  are  admissible." 

'<  I  shall  tell  the  truth,  sir,"  said  the  major,  bristling  up. 

"  I  would  be  a  heretic  to  doubt  it,  major,  for  a  moment," 
said  Carlin ;  "  but  still,  I  insist  upon  having  your  knowledge, 
onl$/" 


474  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 

The  major  did  not  deign  a  reply  ;  and  the  attorney  said— 

"  You  may  take  the  witness,  gentlemen,"  with  quite  an 
air. 

*•  I  understand  you  to  say,  major,"  commenced  Carlin,  "  that  it 
had  been  suggested  to  you  that  Vernon  would  make  a  good 
clerk  ?" 

"  I  said  so,  sir,"  answered  the  major,  with  the  air  of  a  man 
over  whom  ingenuity  could  gain  no  advantage. 

"  Will  you  be  good  enough  to  tell  the  jury  by  whom  this  sng- 
gestion  was  made  ?" 

"  It  was  made  by  Colonel  Thorpe,"  said  the  major. 

"  Tell  us  now  what  he  said  on  the  occasion." 

The  State's  attorney  bounced  to  his  feet  and  objected  to  the 
testimony  as  irrelevant,  and  consuming  time  unnecessarily. 
Carlin  was  about  to  reply,  when  the  court  stopped  him. 

"  It  is  unnecessary  to  reply,  Mr.  Carlin,"  said  the  judge. 
"  This  court  cannot  undertake  to  say,  at  this  stage  of  the  in- 
quiry, precisely,  what  is  relevant  and  what  is  not :  injustice 
might  be  done  by  excluding  testimony  on  this  ground,  whereas, 
if  it  be  really  irrevelant  its  admission  can  do  no  wrong  except- 
ing the  consumption  of  time.  And  probably  this  objection 
would  be  of  no  force,  since  more  time  must  be  consumed  in 
arguing  and  deciding  the  point,  than  would  be  taken  up  in  an- 
swering the  question." 

The  attorney  sat  down  in  chagrin,  and  Carlin  repeated  the 
question. 

"  Well,"  said  the  major,  **  I  do  not  recollect  all  he  said.  But 
if  my  memory  serves  me,  he  made  the  suggestion  on  the  ground 
that  Vernon  was  a  young  artist,  to  whom  an  opportunity  of 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  475 


painting  fine  scenery  might  be  an  advantage.  I  saw  the  pro- 
priety of  the  suggestion,  and  adopted  it  immediately.'* 

"  Major,"  said  Carlin,  "  try  to  recollect .  did  he  say  nothing 
about  its  being  con vcd lent  to  himself,  to  get  Vernon  out  bf  the 
way  by  some  means." 

The  jury  turned  their  eyes  quickly  upon  the  witness,  as  did 
also  all  who  had  not  been  looking  at  him,  and  awaited  his  an- 
swer. 

**  He  said  nothing  of  the  kind,"  said  the  witness ;  and  all 
eyes  were  immediately  turned  from  him  to  Carlin. 

"  He  did  not  make  a  confident  of  you,  then  ?"  said  the  latter. 

"  Not  upon  that  subject,"  replied  the  major. 

"  I  suppose,"  said  Thorpe,  rising  calmly,  and  speaking  for 
the  first  time,  "  there  can  be  no  question  about  the  irrelevancy 
of  this  testimony.  But  since  it  seems  in  some  way  pointed  at 
me — how  I  cannot  conjecture — I  shall  make  no  objection  to  it. 
It  is,  however,  due  to  myself  to  state  that  the  witness  is  per- 
fectly correct — the  suggestion  was  made  upon  the  precise 
ground  stated." 

«*  Go  on,  Mr.  Carlin,"  said  the  judge,  bowing  to  Thorpe. 

**  I  have  but  one  more  question  to  ask,"  said  Carlin,  after 
consulting  with  Clayton.  "  It  is  this,  major — How  long  have 
you  known  Mr.  Vernon,  and  what  has  been  his  character  ?" 

"  I  have  known  him  from  boyhood,"  said  the  major,  "  and 
until  this  charge,  never  heard  a  word  to  his  disparagement — on 
the  contrary,  his  character  has  been,  in  all  relations  of  life,  so 
far  as  I  know,  perfectly  irreproachable." 

"  So  is  every  man's  character  before  he  commits  his  first 
crime,"  said  Thorpe  with  a  smile,  which,  like  all  his  smile*, 
partook  \sLTgely  of  the  nature  of  a  sneer. 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  476 


«« And  so,"  said  Carlin,  "  is  many  a  man's  character  after  he 
has  committed  many  crimes.*' 

•*  True  enough,"  said  Thorpe  carelessly,  and  turned  away, 

"  I  consider  it  proven,"  whispered  Carlin  to  Clayton,  "  that 
Thorpe  is  guilty  ;  for  if  he  had  not  been,  he  would  have  ap- 
plied my  remark  to  our  client." 

Clayton  nodded,  and  told  the  majoi^  he  could  go  down.  Car- 
lin had  gained  his  point — he  had  awakened  the  attention  of  the 
jury,  and  connected  Thorpe,  in  their  minds,  with  the  case. 
This  object  secured,  the  amount  of  direct  testimony  necessary 
to  establish  his  defence  was  greatly  diminished.  He  smiled 
complacently  to  himself  and  mysteriously  at  the  jury  and  by- 
standers. It  was  evident  to  all  that  he  thought  something 
gained ;  and  to  no  one  was  it  more  evident  than  to  Thorpe  him- 
self. He  evinced  his  consciousness  of  the  fact,  by  throwing  off 
ihe  listlessness  w^hich  he  had  put  on,  and  assuming  the  initia- 
tive in  examining  the  next  witness  called  to  the  stand.  The 
light  of  his  eyes  became  deeper,  and  the  lines  of  his  face 
harder ;  while  his  voice,  bereft  of  its  usual  music,  sounded  cold 
and  stern.  He  was  evidently  nerved  for  a  struggle  ;  and  when 
he  drew  his  chair  forward,  the  State's  attorney  instinctively 
gave  way;  as  to  one  who  had  a  right  to  take  precedence  of  him. 
This  change  took  place  while  they  were  awaiting  the  slow  and 
feeble  movements  of  the  senior  Manning,  who  was  the  next 
witness.  Vernon  had  seen  him  but  once  since  the  day  on  which 
he  announced  to  him  the  death  of  his  son ;  and  so  great  was 
the  change  in  his  appearance,  that  he  could  scarcely  recognize 
him.  His  form  was  bent  low  as  if  with  age,  and  his  wan, 
wasted  face  was  cadaverous  in  the  extreme.  His  step  was  in- 
Srm  and  tottering ;  and  when  he  spoke,  his  voice  was  thin, 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  477 


low,  and  broken.  The  court  directed  a  chair  to  be  handed 
him ;  and  when  he  sat  down,  it  seemed  to  be  with  an  effort 
patiently  to  endure  great  pain. 

»*  Mr.  Manning,"  said  Thorpe  in  his  now  hard  tones,  "  are 
you  acquainted  with  Allen  Vernon,  the  prisoner  here  V* 

The  old  man  turned  his  shaking  head  towards  the  place 
where  Allen  sat,  and  bowed  in  affirmation. 

"  Be  so  good  as  to  relate  to  the  jury  where,  when  and  how 
you  became  acquainted  with  him." 

The  old  man  hesitated  a  moment,  as  if  to  recall  a  wandering 
memory,  atid  then  answered  : 

"  I  think  it  was  in  the  month  of  May  in  last  year,  that  I  first 
saw  him  He  came  one  day  to  my  counting-room,  and  applied 
to  me  to  borrow  a  thousand  dollars.  He  offered  me  real  estate 
security — a  mortgage,  I  think,  upon  a  house  on  Franklin  Street 
— but  I  refused  to  loan  upon  this  security,  and  he  went  away. 
He,  however,  asked  me  before  he  left  me,  what  kind  of  security 
I  would  take,  and  whether  John  Talbot  would  do  ?  I  answered 
yes,  and  he  then  left  me.  Afterwards  he  returned  with  a  note 
signed  by  himself,  with  Talbot's  name  as  surety,  for  one  thou- 
sand dollars." 

"  Is  that  it  ?"  said  Thorpe,  holding  up  the  paper. 

The  old  man  took  it,  and  examined  it. 

"  It  is,  sir,"  he  replied,  at  length.  "  I  forgot  to  mention  that 
t  wrote  the  note  at  Vernon's  request,  at  his  first  visit ;  and  when 
he  returned  with  it  signed,  as  I  said,  I  paid  him  the  money  on 
it,  and  took  the  note.  I  held  it  for  several  months  without  dis- 
covering the  forgery ;  and  indeed  I  do  not  know  now  whether 
the  signature  is  not  genuine." 


478  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 

**  We  will  prove  that  by  another  witness,"  said  Thorpe. 
**  Gentlemen,  you  may  examine  Mr.  Manning.*' 

**  When  and  where  did  you  next  see  Mr.  Vernon  ?"  asked 
Carlin. 

•*  On  the  second  of  April  last — I  remember  the  date,  for  I 
closed  my  ofRce  the  same  day,"  said  the  witness.  **  He  came 
into  my  counting-room  to  announce  to  me  the  news  of  the  death 
of  my  son,  who  was  killed  in  Mexico." 

»*  Have  you  heard  that  news  from  any  one  else  ?" 

"  Yes ;  from  Colonel  Thorpe.  He  told  me  how  it  happened 
the  same  day  on  which  Mr.  Vernon  told  me  he  was'dead." 

<«  What  did  he  tell  you  ?'*  asked  Carlin,  after  consultation. 

**  Mr.' Carlin,"  said  the  Judge,  **  that  question  seems  to  me 
very  wide  of  this  inquiry." 

"  I  beg  the  indulgence  of  the  Court,  said  Carlin,  rising ;  "  I 
would  not  have  put  the  question  now,  had  I  not  understood  the 
counsel  for  the  prosecution  to  waive  all  objections  as  to  irrele- 
vancy in  questions  connected  with  himself.  We  think  we  can 
show  a  conspiracy  to  procure  our  client's  conviction ;  and  it 
unfortunately  happens  that  this  is  the  only  way  to  approach  it." 

"  I  have  no  objection  to  the  question,"  said  Thorpe,  smiling. 
It  was  evident,  however,  that  he  was  tortured  almost  beyond 
endurance.  He  set  his  teeth  hard,  his  lips  grew  ashy  pale,  and 
his  eye  smaller  and  darker,  as  Carlin  repeated  the  question. 

"  He  said,"  answered  Manning,  "  that  my  son  had  left  the 
camp  at  Agua  Nueva  in  company  with  Mr.  Vernon  ;  and  that, 
when  the  latter  returned  to  the  camp,  he  reported  that  Hugh 
had  been  killed  in  endeavoring  to  reach  it  with  him.  But  be 
said  that  he  had  afterwards  given  a  different  account  of  my  son's 
death — so  that,  Vernon  being  the  only  witness,  and  contradicting 


I 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  479 


himself,  it  was  hard  to  tell  what  the  truth  was,  or  whether,  in 
in  fact,  the  Mexicans  had  any  agency  in  his  murder." 

**  You  understood  him  to  insinuate,  then,"  said  Carlin,  "  that 
Vernon  had  himself  compassed  your  son's  death  ?" 

**  He  did  not  say  so,"  said  Manning,  *<  but  I  understood  him 
to  mean  something  of  the  kind." 

'*  Did  he  give  you  any  reason  why  Vernon  should  wish  to  put 
Hugh  out  of  the  way  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir ;  he  said  Hugh  was  probably  a  witness  in  some 
w^ay  against  him  in  this  case." 

"  In  some  way,  you  say  :  did  he  specify  how  ?" 

**  He  said  that  Hugh  had  been  in  the  house  at  work,  on  the 
same  day  on  which  the  forgery  was  committed,  and  must  have 
known  something  of  it ;  which  had  no  doubt  induced  Vernon 
to  put  him  out  of  the  way." 

"  Had  you  then  told  Thorpe,  or  any  one  else,  that  Hugh  was 
with  Vernon  on  that  day  ?" 

'*  No,  sir,'*  said  Manning  ;  "  but  I  supposed  Thorpe  knew  it 
from  Colonel  Talbot." 

"  We  will  see  about  that  hereafter,"  said  Carlin.  "  Tell  the 
jury  now,  if  you  please,  how  your  son  came  to  be  there  on  that 
day." 

<<  Mr.  Vernon  employed  him  to  put  up  some  sort  of  rack,  and 
he  was  then  at  work  doing  so.  When  Mr.  Vernon  came  in 
with  the  note,  Hugh  was  with  him.  I  know  that  he  had  just 
come  from  Vernon's,  because  he  brought  his  tools  in  with  him 
— the  same  he  had  taken  away  with  the  rack." 

"  I  think  you  told  me  the  other  day,"  said  Carlin,  "  that  you 
had  the  means  of  verifying  the  precise  time  when  Vernon  got 
the  money." 


480  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 

**  I  have,  sir ;  it  is  my  practice — or  at  least  was  when  I 
loaned  money — to  put  down  in  my  book  the  precise  hour  at 
which  each  note  became  due.  I  generally,  also,  noted  it  upon 
the  margin  of  the  note.  I  did  this  after  an  expensive  lawsuit 
in  which  I  was  once  involved,  in  consequence  of  a  dispute  as  to 
the  time  of  the  day  when  a  note  was  due." 

Every  lawyer  pricked  up  his  ears ;  and  the  younger  ones 
looked  out  upon  the  wondering  crowd  with  a  smile  of  superior 
knowledge,  whispering  each  to  his  neighbor ;  '<  That  was  under 
the  old  statue  of  '18." 

"  Let  me  see  that  note/'  said  Carlin.  "  I  find  here,  <  due 
fifteen  minutes  after  eleven,  A.  M.,  May  16,  1847,'  is  that  the 
time?*' 

**  It  is,  sir.  You  told  me  to  bring  my  book,  and,  (taking  up 
a  calf-bound  ledger)  here  is  the  same  entry." 

"  We  wish  the  jury  to  note  this  point  particularly,'*  said 
Carlin  ;  and  the  jury  all  leaned  forward,  as  if  to  give  greater 
attention,  though  each  already  understood  it  perfectly. 

"  That's  a  good  symptom,  at  all  events,"  whispered  Carlin. 

**  Now,"  he  continued,  aloud,  "tell  us  how  you  happened  to 
discover  the  forgery  before  the  maturity  of  the  note." 

"  Colonel  Talbot  came  to  my  house,"  replied  Manning,  "  and 
asked  me  if  I  had  a  note  for  one  thousand  dollars,  signed  by 
Mr.  Vernon  as  principal,  and  by  himself  as  security.  I  replied 
that  I  had,  and  supposing  he  l^ad  come  to  take  it  up,  I  took  the 
note  out  and  showed  it  to  him.  He  immediately  pronounced  it 
a  forgery ;  and  said  the  first  he  had  known  of  its  existence 
was  through  a  letter  he  had  that  morning  received  from  Mexi- 


CO. 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  481 


"  Did  he  tell  you  from  whom  that  letter  came  V*  asked  Car- 
lin. 

"  He  did  not ;  but  I  inferred  from  the  conversation — " 

"  Stop  !"  thundered  Thorpe,  in  a  voice  quivering  with  pas- 
sion. *^  Tell  only  what  passed,  and  leave  the  inference  for  the 
jury  I 

«  Ah  I"  said  Carlin.     «  The  galled  jade  winces !" 

Thorpe  recovered  himself  immediately  and  rose  from  his 
seat. 

"  K  the  court  please,"  said  he,  "  I  have  permitted  this  course 
of  examination  without  objection,  because  I  saw  that  there  was 
an  effort  to  be  made,  in  some  way,  to  cast  suspicion  upon  my- 
self. Now  in  all  I  have  done  in  the  matter,  I  have  been 
actuated  by  but  one  motive — the  desire  to  see  justice  done  to  a 
young  man,  for  whom  I  had  a  very  high  esteem.  I  therefore 
desire  no  concealment ;  and  though  the  letter  now  referred  to  was 
a  private  one  from  myself,  as  legal  adviser,  to  Colonel  Talbot,  I 
hope  he  will  consent  that  it  may  be  read.  Indeed,  I  demand 
that  such  parts  of  it  as  refer  to  this  subject  shall  now  be  given 
to  the  jury." 

**  This  is  precisely  what  we  wish,"  said  Carlin,  rising  ;  "  and 
our  only  object  is  to  have  suspicion  rest  where  it  belongs." 

"  Where  is  the  letter  ?"  asked  the  judge. 

•*  At  the  request  of  Mr.  Clayton,"  said  Colonel  Talbot,  rising 
and  stepping  forward,  "  I  brought  it  into  court.  It  is  here 
dated,  *  October  24,  1846.'  " 

"  Read  what  relates  to  this  matter,"  said  the  judge. 

"  Here  is  the  passage,"  said  Talbot :  "  He  had  been  speaking 
of  some  unfinished  business,  when  he  changes  the  subject  and 
writes  thus  :  *  I  was  glad  to  hear  that  you  had  re-considered  your 


482 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


resolntiou  in  regard  to  young  Mr.  Vernon.  You  reeoUect  you 
told  me  you  had  refused  to  sign  a  note  to  Uriah  Manning  with 
him  for  one  thousand  dollars.  He  is  a  very  deserving  young 
man ;  and  I  was  therefore  pleased  to  hear,  which  I  did  to-day  for 
the  first  time,  that  you  had  changed  your  mind,  and  thus  enabled 
him  to  join  this  expedition.'  This  is  all  there  is  in  the  letter 
on  the  subject,''  continued  Talbot ;  "  the  remainder  relates  to 
private  business." 

"  That  is  enough,"  said  Carlin.  "  We  will  now  proceed 
with  Mr.  Manning.  You  have  heard,"  he  continued  to  the  lat- 
ter, "  that  Thorpe  says  in  this  letter  that  he  had,  on  that  day, 
October  24,  1846,  learned, /or  the  first  timet  that  Colonel  Tal- 
bot had  signed  this  note :  is  that  true  ?" 

**It  is  not,  sir,"  said  Manning  :  *<  I  told  him  of  it  before  he 
went  to  Mexico.  I  knew  Talbot  and  the  elder  Vernon  had 
been  a  long  time  enemies;  I  was  therefore  surprised  to  see 
Talbot's  name  on  the  note ;  and,  knowing  that  Thorpe  was  fa- 
miliar with  his  affairs,  I  showed  him  the  note  and  asked  an  ex- 
planation."# 

"  You  knew  that  he  was  familiar  with  Talbot's  affairs  ?  Did 
he  say  anything  further  ?" 

«*  I  do  not  recollect  distinctly ;  but  since  Mr.  Clayton  called 
ray  attention  to  it  the  other  day,  I  think  I  remember  that  I  said 
something  to  him  about  his  interests  suffering  in  consequence 
of  the  reconciliation  which  he  had  related  to  me." 

"  Explain  a  little  more  minutely,"  said  Carlin. 

**  Well,"  said  Manning,  after  an  objection  had  been  made 
f^nd  peremptorily  overruled,  *«  I  had  heard  that  Thorpe  was  to 
l)§  marked  to  Pplo^el  T^ilbot's  daughter ;  and  when  I  found 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  483 


I     Talbot  endorsing  for  Vernon,  I  thought  perhaps  some  new  ar- 
rangements had  been  made  ;  and  joked  Thorpe  accordingly," 

"  What  reply  did  he  make  ?" 

*<  He  smiled  and  said  his  interests  were  in  no  permanent 
danger." 

Several  other  questions  were  asked,  with  a  view  of  eliciting 
any  facts  which  fortune  might  have  thrown  into  the  knowledge 
of  the  witness.  Lawyers  treat  witnesses  as  anglers  do  trout 
streams ;  throwing  their  hooks  in  for  whatever  fish  may  happen 
to  come  in  their  way,  always  hoping  that  it  may  prove  of  the 
right  species  ;  whipping  the  waters  where  there  are  no  fish  to 
catch,  and  not  unfrequently  abusing  them  afterwards — when 
their  angling  has  been  of  little  avail.  Carlin  fished  Manning  to 
the  bottom ;  not  satisfied  with  his  success,  and  persisting  in  his 
cross-examination,  until  Clayton  became  uneasy  lest  he  might 
weaken  the  force  of  what  he  had  gained,  by  leading  the  jury  to 
think  he  was  not  satisfied  with  his  success. 

When  at  last  he  announced  that  he  was  done,  every  one  ex- 
pected a  rigid  re-examination  by  Thorpe.  But  that  gentleman 
contented  himself  with  asking  him  to  repeat,  that  this  note  had 
been  written  by  himself  and  given  to  Vernon — that  Vernon  had 
brought  it  back  to  him  signed  with  Talbot's  name — and  that  he 
had  paid  Vernon  the  money  upon  it.  This  course  was  well 
calculated ;  for  when  he  sent  Manning  away  and  calmly  called 
up  Talbot,  every  one  felt  that  Vernon's  chance  of  acquittal  was 
but  slight. 

Talbot  came  upon  the  stand  with  evident  reluctance  ;  but 
whether  it  was  because  the  cross-examination  of  Manning  had 
shaken  his  convictions,  or  for  some  other  reason,  Carlin's  ingenu- 
ity was  not  acute  enough  to  divine.     He  gave  his  ^eatlmow-^  \\\ 


4g4  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 

the  most  straightforward  manner — telling  the  story  simply  and 
plainly,  with  no  indication  of  bias  or  desire  to  convict  or  acquit. 
He  was  too  honest  to  color  the  truth  wilfully  against  any  one ; 
and  all  who  were  acquainted  with  him  knew  that  he  was  not 
likely  to  be  prejudiced  in  Vernon's  favor.  It  is  unnecessary  to 
do  more  then  recapitulate  the  outline.  He  related  the  conver- 
sation in  which  Allen  had  asked  him  to  endorse  the  note — ^his 
taking  it  under  advisement,  concluding  not  to  **  break  a  busi- 
ness rule,"  as  he  expressed  it — his  leaving  the  note  at  Allen's 
house,  as  the  reader  knows,  and  the  maimer  in  which  the  note 
bad  next  come  to  his  hands. 

From  what  had  passed  on  the  examination  of  Manning, 
Thorpe  knew  it  was  necessary  to  be  cautious.  He,  therefore, 
contented  himself  with  bringing  distinctly  before  the  jury  the 
facts  above-stated,  and  turned  him  over  to  Carlin.  A  consul- 
tation of  several  minutes  ensued,  before  the  latter  spoke ;  but 
when  he  did  so,  he  rose  from  his  chair,  and  passing  round  the 
little  desk  before  him,  commenced  the  cross-examination  in  a 
manner  which  gave  some  indication  of  the  importance  he  at- 
tached to  it. 

*'  Colonel  Talbot,"  said  he,  **&i  what  hour  on  the  morning 
of  this  forgery  did  you  leave  home  ?" 

"  It  was  just  in  time  to  reach  the  train  for  L ,"  said  he. 

"  I  had  barely  time  to  get  a  ticket  and  take  my  seat.  I  think 
it  must  have  been  a  little  before  ten  o'clock — the  cars  start  at 
a  quarter  past  ten — at  least,  they  did  then." 

"  You  must  have  been  on  the  road  then  twenty  minutes  ?" 

**  About  that  length  of  time ;  and,  adding  ten  minutes  for 
my  detention  at  Vernon's  house,  brings  me  to  the  time  stated." 

"  Do  you  recoWecl  \\\e  X^tnv^  oi  \X\^  \xov^  ^^\x\"^l\.  Cot  Vernon  ?" 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  485 


"  Not  precisely,"  said  Talbot ;  "  I  have  already  stated  its 
substance.'* 

"  Is  that  the  same  ?*^  he  asked,  handing  Talbot  a  paper. 

«*  It  is,  sir,  the  very  same  !"  he  exclaimed.  "  I  left  it  on  the 
table  in  the  south-eastern  corner  of  the  room  I" 

"  Head  it,"  said  Thorpe  ;  "  it  is  sufficiently  authenticated  by 
the  source  from  whence  it  comes." 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?"  asked  Carlin,  meaningly.  "  But  stop. 
Colonel  Talbot ;  we  are  not  ready  to  give  it  to  the  jury  yet. 
You  have  forgotten  one  circumstance,"  he  continued,  handing 
the  paper  to  Clayton.  "  Who  was  in  that  room  when  you 
wrote  that  note  ?" 

"  A  young  man  whom  I  did  not  know — I  afterwards  found  he 
w^as  the  son  of  Mr.  Manning." 

"Have  you  ever  told  any  one  he  was  present  until  now  ?" 

"  Nobody  but  Colonel  Thorpe." 

"  When  did  you  first  tell  him?" 

"  On  the  day  after  the  death  of  the  elder  Mr.  Vernon.  I  re- 
member his  announcing  that  event  introduced  the  subject." 

•*  Are  you  quite  sure  that  you  had  never  mentioned  it  be- 
fore ?" 

'*  I  am.  I  was  unwilling  to  do  anything  to  cast  suspicion  on 
any  one ;  and,  but  for  this  prosecution,  I  would  have  been  still 
silent." 

"  Do  you  recollect  the  date  of  Vernon's  death?" 

"  I  have  it  in  my  pocket-book,  I  think." 

Thorpe  sprang  to  his  feet.  **  I  have  suffered  this  to  go  on  as 
long  as  patience  can  be  expected  to  go,"  said  he  in  a  deep, 
stern  tone.     <'  1  know   my  rights  and  intend   to  insist  upon 


486  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 

them.  I  object  to  allowing  the  witness  to  read  anything.  Let 
him  speak  from  memory." 

Carlin  was  about  to  speak,  but  the  judge  interposed.  "  The 
witness  may  refresh  his  memory/'  said  he,  ''by  looking  at  any 
note  or  memorandum  made  at  the  time." 

*'  He  died  on  the  fourth,  and  was  buried  on  the  sixth  of 
April,"  said  Talbot,  after  examining  the  book. 

"  Then  you  first  told  Thorpe  of  young  Manning  on  the 
seventh  ?" 

"  Either  on  the  sixth  or  seventh— certainly  not  before  " 

A  movement  among  the  jury  showed  the  effect  of  this 
answer.  Carlin  waited  a  few  moments  to  allow  the  impression 
to  be  felt,  and  then  proceeded  as  before — 

"  Were  you  ever  in  Vernon's  house  before  that  day  ?" 

"  No,  sir ;  and  have  never  been  there  since." 

"We  wish  the  jury  particularly  to  observe  this  answer," 
said  Carlin,  "  as  upon  this  point  depends  much  of  our  'defence." 
The  jury  again  manifested  their  attention,  and  he  proceeded — 

•*  I  am  about  to  ask  you  a  question,  colonel,  which  T  should 
not  ask  were  it  not  absolutely  necessary  to  the  defence  of  an 
innocent  man.  You  need  not  be  very  particular  as  to  details ; 
but  simply  answer  *  yes*  or  *  no*  to  the  question,  whether  or  DOt 
it  had  been  understood  in  your  family,  up  to  about  the  time  of 
this  forgery,  that  Colonel  Thorpe  was  to  be  your  son- in-law?'* 

"  I  submit  to  the  court,'*  said  Thorpe,  rising,  "  whether  this 
is  allowable.** 

"  It  seems  to  be  a  question  of  some  delicacy,**  said  the  judge; 
"  and  I  will,  therefore,  leave  it  in  the  discretion  of  the  witness 
to  answer  it  or  not.** 

"  I  would  have  preferred  not  to  have  my  private  affairs  the 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  487 


subject  of  discussion  here ;  but  since  the  question  has  been 
asked,  it  might  lead  to  misconstruction  if  I  refused  to  answer. 
I  say,  therefore,  that  such  was  the  fact ;  and  that  about  the 
time  stated,  it  ceased  to  be  so.  I  hope  I  shall  not  be  required 
to  say  more." 

"  Certainly  not,  colonel,"  said  Carlin  ;  "  I  will  pass  to  ano- 
ther point.     When  did  Allen  Vernon  first  enter  your  house  V* 

"  About  two  months  before  this  [forgery,"  answered  the 
colonel. 

"That  will  do.     Take  the  witness."     And  he  sat  down. 

"  Colonel  Talbot,"  said  Thorpe,  coolly,  "  these  gentlemen 
have  wandered  from  the  case^  Let  us  return  to  it.  Please 
repeat  to  the  jury  what  you  said  about  this  note  in  the  first 
place  ?" 

Talbot  recapitulated  his  former  testimony,  giving  each  point 
with  precision,  and  telling  heavily  upon  jury  and  crowd.  The 
excitement  of  the  cross-examination  was  over — the  reaction 
had  come,  and  Thorpe  was  calmly  and  skilfully  taking  advan- 
tage of  it.  When  he  told  the  colonel  to  sit  down,  and  an- 
nounced that  the  prosecution  was  through  with  the  testimony 
—although  the  cross-examination  had  been  damaging  to  Thorpe 
— no  one  could  yet  see  its  bearing,  and  all  considered  Vernon's 
case  a  hopeless  one. 


CHAPTEE    IX. 

**  I  am  burned  up  with  iidlaming  wrath."— Kino  Jobiv. 

^Thni  even  hflfnded  justice 
Commeads  the  Ingredients  of  our  poisoned  ohalice 
To  our  own  Ups."— Macbeth. 

'•*'  Give  rae  your  pardon,  sir ;  I  have  done  you  wrong  ; 
But  pardon  it  as  you  are  a  gentleman.'' — ^Hamlct. 

Six  or  seven  witnesses  were  called  and  sworn,  and  told  to 
stand  aside  for  the  present ;  when  a  long  consultation  ensued 
between  Carlin  and  Clayton,  Vernon  meanwhile  leaning  back 
abstracted  and  melancholy.  He  had  protested  against  several 
questions  put  by  his  counsel,  but  without  effect :  they  met  him 
with  the  reply  that  they  were  absolutely  necessary  to  his  de- 
fence, and  that  his  circumstances  admitted  no  scruples  of  over- 
strained delicacy.  Weary  and  dejected,  he  had  relapsed  into 
silence  ;  and  it  was  remarked  that  in  all  the  consultations  of 
his  counsel,  he  bore  no  part — leaving  them  to  manage  the  case 
as  best  they  might,  and  scarcely  manifesting  any  interest  in  the 
testimony.  After  a  pause  of  several  minutes,  during  which  the 
falling  of  a  pin  in  the  court  might  have  been  heard,  Clayton 
beckoned  Colonel  Talbot  to  him,  and  whispered  with  him.  He 
seemed  to  hesitate  a  moment,  and  then  walked  out  of  the  bar 
towards  the  back  part  of  the  house.  He  approached  his  daugh- 
^r,  who  still  sat  veiled  as  at  first,  and  after  talking  a  moment 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  489 


with  her,  gave  her  his  hand,  and  brought  her  forward.  As 
she  approached  the  clerk's  bar  she  threw  back  her  veil,  reveal- 
ing a  face  *'  pale  as  monumental  marble,''  and  quivering  with 
excitement.  Her  father  stood  beside  her  while  she  was  being 
sworn,  and  then  accompanied  her  in  silence  to  the  witness  box. 
The  crowd  looked  on  with  the  most  intense  interest,  and  the 
jury  drew  up  together  as  if  to  catch  each  breath  of  her  testi- 
mony. 

"  The  witness  must  stand  alone,"  said  Thorpe,  sternly. 

"  We  ask  permission  for  her  father  to  remain  with  her,"  said 
Clayton. 

"  Go  on,  sir,"  said  the  judgft.  "  No  harm  can  be  done  by 
that  course." 

"  Colonel  Talbot,"  said  Clayton,  rising,  "  we  will  examine 
you  first.  Is  that  the  note  you  left  for  Mr.  Vernon  on  the 
day  of  this  forgery  ?" 

*'  It  is,  sir."  He  read  aloud  the  note  which  the  reader  re- 
memliers. 

"  Hand  it  to  your  daughter,  if  you  please.  Miss  Talbot,"  he 
continued  to  Cara,  **  did  you  ever  see  that  paper  before  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  she,  "  I  had  it  in  my  possession  a  long  time." 
Her  voice  trembled  a  little  at  first,  and  she  took  her  father's 
arm,  as  if  to  support  herself.  But  she  grew  firmer  as  she  pro- 
ceeded, and  when  she  answered  the  next  question  the  tremor 
had  vanished. 

"Tell  the  jury,  if  you  please,  how,  when,  and  where,  it 
came  to  your  possession." 

*'  I  found  it  on  the  parlor  floor  at  home,  on  the  same  day  on 

which  this  crime  is  said  to  have  been  committed.     It  was  lying 

on  the  floor  at  the  end  of  a  sofa." 
21* 


490  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 

*'Can  you  account  for  its  being  there  ?" 

"  Not  with  certainty,"  she  replied..  "  But  it  was  lying 
precisely  where  Mr.  Thorpe  had  been  sitting." 

All  eyes  were  turned  upon  Thorpe — those  of  the  jury  evi- 
dently full  of  suspicion.  But  that  gentleman  sat  calmly  looking 
at  the  witness,  his  face  wearing  a  cynical,  even  amused  smile. 
When  Cara  was  brought  to  the  stand,  had  any  one  noticed  him, 
he  might  have  seen  his  nerves  shaken ;  but  he  had  now  re- 
covered his  composure,  and  his  &ce  wore  an  expression  of  con- 
scious strength  to  triumph. 

"When  did  you  first  discover  the  paper?"  Clayton  con- 
tinued. 

"  Almost  immediately  after  he  went  out." 

"  What  time  did  he  enter  the  house  on  that  morning  ?" 

'^  I  do  not  know  the  exact  hour,"  she  answered  ;  but  it  must 
have  been  a  little  more  than  an  hour  after  my  father  left  the 
house." 

"  Then,  if  I  understand  you,"  said  Clayton,  "  you  testify  that 
you  first  observed  this  note  immediately  after  Thorpe's  depar- 
ture ;  that  it  lay  precisely  where  he  sat,  and  that  he  entered 
the  house  somewhere  near  eleven  o'clock  in  the  morning?" 

"  Yes,  sir,"  she  replied,  and  Clayton  sat  down. 

"  Miss  Talbot,"  said  Thorpe,  commencing  in  a  calm,  in- 
sinuating tone,  "  was  there  no  one  else  in  that  room  that  mor- 
ning, besides  your  father  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir,"  she  replied ;  **  Mr.  Vernon  was  there  also.  He 
came  in  almost  immediately  after  my  father  went  away — ^within 
ten  minutes  at  least — and  was  not  gone  much  longer  than  that 
when  you  entered. " 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  491 


**  This  is  where  you  went,  then/'  said  Carlin  in  an  aside  to 
Allen,  "  when  you  left  Hugh  to  put  up  the  rack  ?" 

Vernon  nodded  and  turned  again  to  Cara. 

"  Can  you  now  state  positively,"  Thorpe  continued,  "  that 
this  note  was  not  on  the  floor  when  I  came  in  ?" 

**  I  cannot, '^  she  replied,  **  because  I  do  not  know  when  it  was 
written.    I  only  think  it  could  not  have  been  there." 

"  Still,  you  are  not  sure  ?" 

"  No,  sir — it  might  have  been  lost  by  Mr.  Vernon — but — 

"And  so  it  was,"  interrupted  Thorpe,  cutting  short  her  re- 
ply, and  sitting  down  with  a  smile  of  triumph.  It  was  a  mo- 
ment of  intense  excitement ;  had  Clayton  suffered  her  to  retire 
now,  the  cause  would  have  been  lost.  But  he  had  calculated 
upon  this ;  he  knew  that  Thorpe  had  met  Vernon  going  away 
from  the  house  on  that  morning ;  and  he  saw  by  the  smile  on 
his  lips  that  he  remembered  it  now.  He  determined,  therefore, 
to  allow  Thorpe  to  fall  into  the  pit  dug  for  him — to  let  him 
draw  out  the  testimony  about  Vernon,  and  then  re-examine  with 
a  view  of  showing  that  Vernon  could  not  have  committed  the 
crime. 

*'  Wait  one  moment,  colonel,"  he  said,  rising,  "  let  me  ask 
her  two  or  three  questions  more.  Miss  Talbot,"  he  continued 
to  Cara,  "  will  you  repeat  what  you  said  about  the  time  of  Mr. 
Vernon's  entrance  ?" 

"  1  said  he  entered  the  house  a  very  few  minutes  after  my 
father  left  it  ?" 

"  How  long  after  ?  Long  enough  for  your  father  to  have 
ridden  to  Vernon's  house  on  Franklin-street,  to  write  this  note 
there,  and  for  Vernon  to  come  with  it  to  your  father's  house  on, 
Jefferson-street  ?" 


492  TALBOT  AND  VBBNOH. 

"  No,  sir — ^my  father  could  scarcely  have  been  mnch  beyond 
Franklin-street  when  Mr.  Vernon  entered  the  house,  even  if  he 
bad  driven  very  rapidly." 

*«  How  long  did  Mr.  Vernon  remain  with  you  ?" 

**  I  do  not  remember  precisely — ^but  not  longer  than  an  hour 
perhaps  not  more  than  half  an  hour." 

*'  It  was  physically  impossible,  then,  that  this  note  should 
have  been  written  and  got  there  when  Vernon  entered  ?" 

"  Stop  I"  said  Thorpe,  '« leave  that  for  the  jury." 

« Very  well,"  said  Clayton,  "  the  jury  will  see  the  point 
We  will  not  detain  you  longer.  Miss  Talbot." 

As  Cara  passed  near  Allen  he  bowed  deeply,  smiling  grate- 
fully.  She  returned  the  salute  with  the  smile ;  and,  turned  a» 
her  face  was  towards  the  crowd,  every  one  in  the  house  could 
see  her.  Mary  Bryce,  among  others,  observed  her,  and  threw 
those  fat  hands  into  the  air,  with  a  gasp  of  alarm,  at  the 
'*  shocking  impropriety ;"  and  yet  she  was  then  sitting  with  her 
foot  upon  the  seat  before  her,  and  below  her  several  boys  and 
young  men  had  forgotten  the  trial  entirely,  in  tittering  at  the 
view  of  her  fat  ancles. 

•*  Andrew  Brady,"  was  next  called ;  and  answering  to  the 
call,  a  respectable  looking  man  of  some  fifty  years,  apparently 
in  ill  health,  came  forward. 

"  Mr.  Brady,"  said  Clayton,  **  where  did  you  live  in  May  of 
last  year  ?" 

"  In  the  same  place  where  1  now  live,"  replied  the  witness ," 
on  Franklin-street,  directly  opposite  Mr.  Vernon's." 

"  Were  you  in  your  house  on  the  16th  of  that  month  ?" 

*'  I    was — and  for   several  days  before  and  after.     I  do  not 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  493 


know  that  it  was  the  sixteenth ;  but  I  re<iolIect  seeing  Colonel 
Talbot  enter  Vernon's  house,  whatever  day  that  was." 

"Tell  the  jury,  if  you  please,  what  you  observed  on  that 


morning." 


**  Well,"  said  the  old  man,  taking  the  chair  oflfered  him  by 
the  sheriff,  ''  I  was  confined  to  the  house  by  illness,  and  amused 
myself  by  watching  the  passengers  in  the  street.  On  the  morn- 
ing of  which  I  speak,  I  wa«,  as  usual,  sitting  by  the  window, 
w^hen  I  observed  young  Manning  enter  Vemon*s  house  with 
some  sort  of  rack  on  his  arm.  A  few  minutes  afterwards,  Mr. 
Vernon  came  out  and  walked  away,  in  the  direction  of  Jeflfer- 
8on-street.  He  had  not  been  gone  more  than  fifteen  or  twenty 
minutes,  when  a  carriage  stopped  at  the  door,  and  a  gentleman 
stepped  out  and  entered,  whom  I  was  surprised  to  recognize  as 
Colonel  Talbot.  I  was  surprised  because  I  knew  that  he  and 
the  elder  Mr.  Vernon  were  not  upon  good  terms.  He  stayed 
but  a  few  minutes,  when  he  came  out,  and  re-entering  his  car- 
riage, drove  off  towards  the  railroad  station  at  the  head  of 
Franklin-street.  He  was  just  out  of  sight,  when  I  observed 
Colonel  Thorpe  approach  the  gate  and  enter.  He  knocked  at 
the  door  and  then  entered.  He  was  in  the  house  a  few 
minutes — ^perhaps  as  many  as  fifteen — when  he  came  out  and 
walked  down  Franklin,  towards  Jefierson-street  in  the  same 
direction  taken  by  Vernon.  About  fifteen  or  twenty  minutes 
afterwards,  Mr.  Vernon  returned  and  entered  the  house.  He 
stayed  within  but  a  short  time,  when  he  and  the  younger  Man- 
ning came  out  together,  and  crossing  Franklin,  entered  Main- 
street,  and  passed  out  of  sight.  I  saw  Mr.  Vernon  return  alone 
some  time  afterwards.     My  memory   of  these   things,  I  sup- 


494  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 


pose  is  made  more  distinct  by  my  surprise  in  seeing  Colone. 
Talbot  enter,  where  I  knew  he  was  not  in  the  habit  of  going." 

"  You  may  take  him,**  said  Clayton  to  Thorpe,  and  sat  down. 

"  Mr.  Brady,*'  the  latter  commenced,  "  is  your  recollection 
so  distinct  as  to  enable  you  to  swear  positively  to  the  order  in 
which  these  persons  entered  that  house  ?'* 

**  I  suppose,'*  said  Brady,  "it  is  possible  that  I  may  be  mis- 
taken ;  but  it  is  hardly  probable — indeed,  not  at  all  probable." 

"  Still,  it  is  possible  ?** 

«*Oyes,  sir.** 

"  Well,  now  tell  me  whether  you  have  not  related  these  cir- 
cumstances before  ? — I  call  your  attention  particularly  to  the 
point  of  Manning's  presence  there  on  that  morning.** 

"  I  have  never  related  them,**  said  the  witness,  "  but  once. 
That  was  about  three  weeks  ago :  I  heard  that  Talbot  had  left 
this  note  at  Vernon*s  house  unsigned  :  1  immediately  recollected 
having  seen  him  enter  the  house,  and,  on  reflection,  recollected 
also  the  visitors  who  had  entered  before  and  after  him.  I  met 
Mr.  Clayton  and  related  the  circumstance  to  him  :  I  suppose  he 
had  me  subpoenaed  here  to-day.** 

Thorpe  continued  his  examination  nearly  an  hour — turning 
the  testimony  in  every  conceivable  way,  and  endeavoring  by  all 
those  time-honored  arts  practised  by  lawyers,  to  confuse  the 
witness  or  make  him  falter.  It  was  all  in  vain ;  every  one  saw 
as  the  examination  proceeded,  that  Thorpe  was  despairing,  and 
that  so  far  from  confusing  the  witness,  he  was  really  losing  his 
own  self-possession.  Clayton  leaned  calmly  back,  and  watched 
his  fiery  struggles  with  an  aspect  denoting  the  same  feelings, 
with  which  a  naturalist  watches  the  convulsive  struggles  of  the 
insect  he  has  impaled.     Clayton  was  kind   at  heart — unwilling 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  495 


to  inflict  pain  uselessly  at  any  time, — but  he  had  also  a  deep 
Jove  of  jnstice,  and  to  see  *'  the  fowler  taken  in  his  own  net,** 
gratified  the  instincts  of  the  man  and  the  habits  of  the  lawyer. 
At  last  Thorpe  gave  in ;  and  leaning  back,  with  a  face  whose 
chagrin  and  disappointment  he  strove  hard  to  conceal,  he  waved 
his  hand  to  the  witness  to  go  down.  He  saw  that  nothing  was 
to  be  gained  by  cross-examination,  that  all  depended  upon  the 
argument ;  and  feeling  his  strength,  he  resolved  to  rely  upon 
that  alone.  His  bosom  swelled  with  the  consciousness  of  his 
power,  and  he  longed  at  once  to  rise  and  tear  away  the  meshes 
that  encompassed  him.  But  he  must  wait ;  his  was  the  clos- 
ing the  speech  ;  three  addresses  were  to  be  made  before  his; 
there  could  be  no  reply,  and  knowing  this  his  face  cleared,  and 
reassumed  its  ancient  smile. 

**  Henry  Brady  !"  was  called,  and  firm  as  was  this  self-reli- 
ance, his  countenance  changed  and  he  rose  to  his  feet,  as  if  to 
be  prepared  for  a  conflict.  Conscience,  which,  it  is  said, 
•*  makes  cowards  of  us  all,'*  had  the  opposite  effect  upon  him 
— it  roused  and  made  him  desperate.  He  know  nothing  of 
what  was  to  be  proven  by  the  witness  ;  yet  his  memory  con- 
jured up  images  of  events,  which  had  transpired  on  a  certain 
night  but  a  few  months  before — when  his  own  hand  had  dealt 
a  blow  fur  his  safety.  He  remembered  well  that  Brady  was  a 
non-commissioned  officer,  attached  to  the  Right  Flank  Guard 
on  that  night ;  and  conscience  made  him  feel  that  it  was  of  this 
that  testimony  was  about  to  be  offered.  He  was  excited  ;  in- 
deed, he  had  been  so  from  the  beginning  of  the  trial ;  and  it 
may  be  doubted  whether  all  the  success  he  proposed  to  him- 
self would  have  been  an  adequate  compensation  for  the  torture 
of  that  day.     The  weather  was  not  warm  (ot  U\e  %^«fiow\  ^\A 


496  TALBOT  AND  VBRNON. 

4 

jet  the  sweat  stood  in  large  drops  upon  his  brow ;  and  though 
his  features  were  composed,  excepting  his  eye,  his  attitude  and 
bearing  spoke  of  the  consuming  fire  within.  It  cost  him  a 
mighty  effort  to  retain  his  self-possession ;  for  both  Carlin  and 
Clayton  were  still  watching  him  with  that  steady  but  sinister 
gaze,  which  was  so  full  of  meaning  to  his  guilty  conscience. 
But  he  succeeding  in  calming  himself,  at  least  outwardly  ;  and 
though  the  veins  upon  his  forehead  swelled  like  cords,  he  stood 
like  a  lion  in  the  toils  but  still  unconquered,  as  if  ready  to  rend 
the  first  who  should  approach  him. 

"  It  is  a  pity,  by  Jove  1"  exclaimed  Carlin,  in  a  whisper, 
*^  that  powers  such  as  that  man  has  should  be  so  perverted  I" 
Like  all  intellectual  men  he  recognized  and  admired  mental 
power  wherever  it  was  found. 

"  Mr.  Brady,"  said  Clayton,  as  the  corporal  was  sworn,  and 
hobbled  forward  on  cratches — the  consequence  of  a  wound  at 
Buena  Vista,  for  which  he  had  been  discharged — '*  were  you  or 
not  attached  to  the  army  on  the  twenty-second  of  February 
last?" 

**  I  was  in  the  line  of  the  army,  sir,"  replied  the  young  man. 

"Where  were  you  on  that  night?" 

"  I  was  one  of  the  corporals  of  the  guard,  stationed  at  the 
randwoi  Buena  Vista." 

*'  How  many  prisoners  were  brought  to  the  guard  that 
night  V 

"Only  one,  sir." 

"  Did  you  or  not  overhear  a  conversation  between  that  priso- 
ner and  any  other  person  ?" 

"  I  did,  sir." 

He  was  about  to  proceed  when  Thorpe  stopped  him.    **I 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  497 


think/'  said  he,  addressing  the  court  in  a  tone  whose  suppressed 
passion  was  but  too  evident,  **  sufficient  latitude  has  been  al- 
lowed in  this  cause ;  and  while  the  defence  confined  them- 
selves to  the  limits  of  the  United  States,  we  were  not  disposed 
to  object.  They  wish  now  to  take  a  wider  range,  and  we 
have  no  more  patience ;  we  object  to  the  testimony  perempto- 
rily !'' 

"  What  is  the  object  of  your  question?"  asked  the  judge. 

"  It  has  been  shown,"  said  Clayton,  "  that  an  attempt  has 
been  made  by  Colonel  Thorpe  to  create  the  impression  that 
young  Manning's  death  was  compassed  by  Vernon,  to  get  him 
out  of  the  way.  We  now  propose  to  show  by  the  witness, 
that  Colonel  Thorpe  was  himself  the  mover  of  the  attempt 
upon  the  lives  of  both  Manning  and  Vernon.  We  can  prove 
this — "  his  tongue  was  arrested  in  mid-speech.  Thorpe  sprang 
like  a  tiger  at  his  throat;  and  drawing  a  heavy  knife  was  about 
to  plunge  it  to  his  heart,  when  a  blow  from  a  heavy  hand  be- 
hind him  felled  him  to  the  floor !  The  court  was  immediately 
in  commotion — the  men  rushing  within  the  bar,  and  the  women 
screaming  with  terror.  The  judge  called  upon  the  officers  to 
keep  order,  while  the  sheriff,  who  had  given  the  timely  blow, 
stooped  down  and  took  the  knife  from  Thorpe's  relaxed  hand. 
Several  minutes  elapsed  before  order  could  be  restored,  when 
Gillam  lifted  the  prostrate  form  of  Thorpe  and  placed  him  on  a 
chair.  His  face  was  ipale  and  distorted,  and  a  stream  of  frothy, 
light-colored  blood  ran  from  his  mouth  and  nostrils.  A  physi- 
cian was  in  attendance  immediately.  He  announced  that  a 
blood-vessel  had  been  ruptured,  and  ordered  his  patient  to  be 
removed  at  once  from  the  court. 

When  order  was  at  last  restored,  the  Stale's  aUotu^^  ^^^V^i^ 


498  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 

that  the  trial  might  be  suspended  until  the  following  mom^ 
ing. 

"It  is  now  very  near  the  hour  of  adjournment,"  said  he, 
**  and  I  could  wish  a  little  time  to  reflect  upon  the  course  most 
proper  to  be   taken  by  me   under   the   extraordinary  circum- 


stances." 


"  Aie  the  defence  willing  to  consent  ?"  asked  the  judge. 

"  We  are  not,  sir,"  said  Clayton.  "  Mr.  Vernon  must  not 
rest  under  this  charge  an  hour  longer  than  we  can  avoid." 

"  Not  another  minute  I"  said  a  voice  from  the  crowd,  which 
made  Vernon  start  from  his  feet.  A  young  man  in  a  fujl  regi- 
mental uniform  pushed  his  way  through  the  crowd,  and  enter- 
ing the  bar  revealed  the  person  of  Hugh  Manning.  Vernon 
sprang  forward,  and  extended  both  hands ;  but  before  he 
reached  him,  the  arms  of  his  father  were  about  his  neck,  and 
the  old  man  was  weeping  like  a  child  !  Again  the  court  was 
in  commotion ;  for  a  crowd  once  excited,  like  a  fire  once  kindled, 
will  ignite  again  and  again,  more  easily  each  successive  time ; 
and  nothing  will  prevent  it  but  the  separation  of  the  mass  of 
combustibles.  The  sheriff  at  last  restored  order  again  ;  and  by 
some  persuasion  finally  induced  the  old  man  to  relinquish  his 
hold  upon  Hugh,  until  he  could  be  sworn  and  examined. 

**  It  is  quite  unnecessary,"  said  the  State's  attorney.  "  I 
consider  it  proven  that  Mr.  Vernon  is  not  guilty,  and  am  there- 
fore willing  that,  a  nolle  pi'osequi  should  be  entered." 

"  That  will  not  satisfy  us,"  said  Clayton.  "  We  cannot  suf- 
fer this  inquiry  to  stop  until  we  have  proven  who  did  this  for- 
gery." 

Hugh  was  sworn,  and  Clayton  was  about  to  examine  him, 
when  some  one  drew  lus  attention  to  the  railing  round  the  bar. 


TALBOT  AND  VEKNON.  499 


He  whispered  with  the  man  a  moment,  and  having  consulted 
with  Carlin,  returned. 

"  If  the  court  please,"  he  said,  "  I  have  just  been  informed 
of  the  death  of  Colonel  Thorpe.  Under  the  circumstances  we 
deem  it  improper  to  pursue  this  investigation  farther  than  will 
be  done  in  asking  one  question.  It  is  this — Do  you  or  do 
you  not  know  who  did  not  commit  this  forgery  ?" 

"  Without  the  consent  of  the  prosecution,*  said  the  judge, 
"  that  form  of  question  cannot  be  allowed." 

"  I  have  no  objection  to  his  answering,*'  said  the  attorney. 

"  Well,"  said  Hugh,  "  I  do  know,  for  I  saw  it  done.  I  have, 
moreover,  the  note  which  was  written  and  substituted  for  Colo- 
nel Talbot's.  It  was  not  written  by  Mr.  Vernon,  and  it  was 
not  written  by  me,  as  I  have  just  heard  some  were  foolisli 
enough  to  hint.  I  would  have  told  Mr.  Vernon  all  about  this 
transaction  in  Mexico,  but  for  reasons  which  I  will  give  him  at 
some  future  time.  I  fell  into  the  usual  mistake  of  soldiers,  and 
supposed  that  whosoever  else  might  be  taken  or  killed,  cer- 
tainly I  should  escape ;  and  so  kept  silence." 

The  State's  attorney  had  no  questions  to  ask — the  case  was 
given  to  the  jury  without  argument,  and  without  leaving  their 
seats  they  made  up  and  returned  a  verdict  of  "  Not  Guilty." 

As  Allen  came  out  of  the  court-house,  he  found  Colonel  Tal- 
bot and  his  daughter  standing  near  the  door  waiting  for  his  car- 
riage. The  former  turned  as  Vernon  stepped  out,  and  at  once 
offered  him  his  hand. 

**  I  have  done  you  injustice,  sir,"  said  he,  with  a  nearer  ap- 
proach to  frankness  than  generally  marked  his  manner.  "  Let 
me  atone  for  it  as  publicly  as  possible." 

"Ab  atonement  is  necessaryt  colonel,"  said  AWen^  \."8toa%\\\e» 


500  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 

hand  without  hesitation.  "  The  plot  against  me  was  too  well 
managed  to  imply  injustice  in  those  who  believed  me  guilty." 

«  Nevertheless,"  said  Cara,  "it  was  an  unjust  suspicion. 
But  for  the  last  few  days  my  father's  convictions  have  been 
much  shaken."  ^ 

"  They  have,  indeed,"  said  the  colonel.  "  But  here  is  the 
carriage.     "Will  you  not  ride  home  with  us,  Allen  ?" 

The  invitation  was  too  tempting,  and  it  was  too  frankly 
given,  to  be  declined.  Allen  stepped  into  the  carriage  and  rode 
away. 

"  Now,"  said  the  colonel,  when  they  were  seated  in  Cara's 
drawing-room,  "  I  have  a  word  or  two  to  say,  and  then  I  will 
leave  you  alone.  Cara  has  told  me  the  secret  of  her  deep  in- 
terest in  your  trial,  and  I  promised  her  that  if  you  could  estab- 
lish your  innocence,  and  still  wished  what  she  says  you  did 
wish,  there  should  be  no  objection  on  my  part.  Do  you  still 
wish  it  ?" 

Allen  began  to  pour  forth  a  mass  of  gratitude  in  a  manner 
too  confused  not  to  be  at  once  understood. 

"  Very  well,"  interrupted  Talbot.  "  I  see  how  it  is.  I  have 
sometimes  thought  my  course  towards  your  father  may  have 
been  too  harsh.  Let  my  consent,  now,  in  some  measure,  atone 
for  it.     There  she  is — take  her." 

He  turned  as  he  spoke  and  left  the  room.  Allen  stood  for  a 
»    moment  as  if  bewildered,  Cara  still  sitting  on  the  sofa. 

"You  don't  want  me  then,"  she  said,  with  a  smile. 

Allen  sprang  towards  her  with  all  his  former  eagerness — her 
fiace  was  turned  to  his  as  he  took  her  in  his  arms,  and —  Bat 
let  us  imitate  the  colonel,  and  discreetly  leave  them  to  their 
communion.    The  scene  'w^s  uot  ^t  for  other  eyes. 


CHAPTER    THE    LAST. 

"  'Tis  to  be  wished  it  had  been  sooner  done, 
But  stories  sometimes  lengthen  when  begun."— Beppo. 

*'  And  so  without  more  circumstance  at  all, 
I  hold  it  fit  that  we  shake  hands  and  part."— Hamlet. 

• 

Early  on  the  day  after  the  trial,  Vernon  and  Hugh  were  to- 
gether, each  recounting  to  the  other  his  adventures  since  their 
sudden  parting  among  the  mountains. 

"  A  few  days  after  this,"  said  Hugh — we  take  up  the  story 
where  we  left  it — "  I  was  suddenly  startled  in  my  room  by  the 
entrance  of  Catharina,  who  told  me  that  a  squadron  of  Urrea*s 
lancers  were  entering  the  valley.  I  rose  from  the  couch  where 
I  was  lying,  and  attempted  to  follow  her  to  a  place  of  security, 
for  although  I  had  gained  strength  very  fast  under  Catharina's 
care,  T  was  still  too  weak  to  fight,  almost  too  weak  to  stand, 
But  before  we  could  cross  the  courtyard  another  detachment 
rushed  furiously  in,  firing  without  discrimination  upon  all  who 
appeared,  Mexicans  as  well  as  Texans,  and  showering  curses  as 
profusely  as  bullets.  Luckily,  we  were  both  untouched ;  and 
in  a  few  moments  the  captain  of  the  detachment  rode  forward 
and  announced  to  us  the  pleasant  fact  that  we  were  both  his 
prisoners.  We  were  led  away  together — and  this  was  the  only 
alleviation  of  my  fate.  Even  this,  however,  did  not  last  long ; 
for  as  soon  as  the  other  squadron  came  up,  the  officer,  who  ap- 
peared to  be  the  senior,  ordered  Catharina  to  be  released.  They 
led  her  away,  though  not  without  some  demonBlm\AOXva  ol  ^^ 


502  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 

spirit  you  have  se^n  in  her.  ^  I  saw  her  no  more  till  about  a 
month  ago,  when  I  found  her  in  Matamoras.  She  is  now  at 
the  *  American.*  " 

"  You  are  married,  then  ?"  said  Allen,  in  surprise. 

"  Yes,"  Hugh  answered.  **  I  was  unwilling  to  part  from 
her  again,  for  fear  w€  might  not  meet  so  fortunately.  She  de- 
murred to  the  demand  at  first,  on  the  ground  that  her  mourning 
term  was  not  closed.  But  she  yielded  to  my  entreaties,  when 
I  told  her  I  was  on  my  way  home,  and  might  not  be  able  ever 
to  return.  It  was  the  delay  necessary  to  this  affair  which  kept 
me  so  long  away — which  was  so  near  making  my  arrival  too 
late. 

"  But  what  did  the  guerillas  do  with  you  ?"  asked  Allen. 

**  I  believe  they  were  strongly  inclined  to  kill  me  at  first ; 
but  finding  that  death  was  likely  to  come  soon  enough,  they 
left  me  to  perish  in  a  miserable  rancho  just  outside  the  valley. 
You  remember  it,  perhaps — on  the  banks  of  the  river  as  you 
enter  from  towards  Monterey?  Here  I  lay  two  weeks,  and 
when  you  visited  the  valley,  I  must  have  been  there.  It  is  on 
the  opposite  side  of  the  stream  from  the  road  usually  travelled, 
and  was  thus  not  visited  by  any  one,  except  the  old  wo£han  and 
her  boy,  to  whom  I  am  indebted  for  my  life.  At  the  end  of 
the  two  weeks,  a  straggling  party  of  the  same  cut-throats  who 
desolated  the  valley  returned  to  it;  and  finding  me  able  to  ride, 
they  placed  me  on  a  horse  and  galloped  away  with  me  towards 
the  south.  We  rode  thus  for  several  days,  when,  to  my  infinite 
satisfaction,  they  at  last  drew  their  reins  and  introduced  me  to 
th^r  commandante — a  black-whiskered  fellow,  with  a  sword 
nearly  as  long  as  himself.  I  have  forgotten  the  name  of  the  little 
town — but  I  happened  to  recollect  that  it  was  not  more  than 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  603 

t       ■  4 

one  hundred  miles  from  Tampico  ;  and  upon  this  knowledge  I 
predicated  my  hopes  of  escape. 

"  I  immediately  feigned  great  weakness — though,  thanks  to 
an  excellent  constitution,  I  was  as  strong  as  ever,  only  a  little 
pale  and  thin.  For  nearly  two  weeks  more  I  kept  up  the  de- 
ception—even asking  the  support  of  a  Mixioan's  arm  when  I 
walked  out  to  take  a  little  air.  I  told  the  commandante  I  was 
losing  strength  every  day,  when  in  fact  I  was  strong  enough  to 
tear  him  limb  from  limb.  They  ceased  to  watch  me  almost  al- 
together— ^no  doubt  thinking  that  the  one  man  whose  aid  I 
always  asked  was  a  guard  quite  sufficient.  I  gained  in  my 
rambles  thus,  a  complete  knowledge  of  the  directions,  roads, 
&c. ;  and  among  other  useful  items,  I  found  that  the  road  to 
Tampico  ran  out  of  the  town,  in  the  same  direction  in  which 
I  usually  walked.  About  a  mile  from  the  town  was  situated  a 
large  rancho — and  here,  the  longest  walks  we  took  generally 
ended.  Among  other  things  about  this  place,  I  observed  seve- 
ral very  fine  horses — and  with  the  freedom  generated  by  a  sol- 
dier's life,  determined  that  one  of  them  should  be  mine. 

"  I  at  last  succeeded  in  possessing  myself  of  a  carbine,  taken 
from  so^ne  American,  and  a  pair  of  pistols.  These  I  secreted 
in  my  room  until  night,  when  I  determined  to  give  my  friends 
the  slip.  There  was  but  one  egress  to  my  room,  and  before  this 
a  sentinel  walked  every  night.  On  that  evening  I  waited  in 
vain  for  the  fellow,  who  came  on  at  ten  o'clock,  to  go  to  sleep, 
as  he  was  in  the  habit  of  doing.  For  some  reason  or  other, 
however,  on  this  night,  he  was  very  wakeful.  I  thought  I 
would  have  to  kill  him,  and  several  times  stepped  towards  tjie 
door  to  do  it.  At  last,  however,  I  thought  of  a  better  plan.  I 
called  him  to  me  and  told  him  I  wanted  some  wme,  ioi  '^\v\Ocv 


504^  TALBOT  AND  VfelNON. 

— ■ — ' *-  '. 

• 

I  was.wLlUng^to  pay  habdeomely-r-showiug  him  in  the  star-light 
a  l^alf-dollar — the  only  coin  the  thieving  rascals  had  left  me,  and 
that  only  because  it  eluded  their  search.  .The  fellow  grasped 
at  the  coin — but  I  drew  it  back,  telling  him  he  could  not  have 
it  until  he  brought  me  some  ^ife.  He  wanted  to  wait  till 
he  was  relieved ;  bat  I  told  him  I  would  be  asleep  then,  and 
would  not  want  the  wine.  He  at  last  consented  to  go  after  it ; 
and  while  he  was  gone,  I  quietly  stepped  out  and  walked  off. 
I  knew  he  would  not  dare  to  give  the  alarm,  since,  if  he  did^  his 
desertion  would  be  known  ;  while,  if  my  absence  were  not  dis- 
covered till  morning,  he  would  get  off  clear,  in  the  uncertainty 
as  to  which  sentinel  had  let  rae  escape.  (Their  sentinels,  like 
ours,  are  changed  every  two  hours.) 

**  I  walked  as  rapidly  and  noiselessly  as  possible  to  the  ranchOt 
where  I  found  no  difficulty  in  sadd  ling  one  of  the  finest  horses  in  the 
yard.  Mounting  him,  I  rode  quietly  off — taking  it  easily  for  an  hour 
or  two,  and  then  pushing  rapidly  on.  I  rode  all  night,  without 
stopping  for  a  moment,  except  to  let  my  horse  drink,  and  in  the 
morning  must  have  been  more  than  forty  miles  on  my  way  to 
Tampico.  When  my  escape  was  discovered,  and  whether  any 
pursuit  was  made  I  never  knew,  for,  as  you  may  imagine,  I  did 
not  wait  to  see.  In  the  morning,  a  while  after  sunrise,  I  got  a 
bowl  of  goat's  milk  from  a  woman  at  a  little  rancko  on  the 
road,  and  asked  her  the  way  to  San  Luis  Potosi.  She  shook 
her  forefinger  at  me,"^  and  I  rode  on — she  screaming  after  me 
that  that  was  the  road  to  Tampico.  She  did  not  know  which 
was,  but  she  evidently  knew  this  was  not,  the  road  to  San  Luis. 
I  watered  my  horse  at  a  little  stream  which  crossed  the  road, 
and  then  put  him  into  a  gallop,  which  in  about  four  hours 

*  A  gesture,  among^  the  Mexicans,  expressing  ignorance  or  negation. 


^TALIBOT  AND  VERNON.  •   505 

. ■ r-  ' 

brought  me  in  sight  of  the  waters  of  the  Gulf.  An  hour  or  two 
after  dark,  I  was  hailed  in  English — the  happiest  #ound  I  ever 
heard— and  found^rayself  in  Tampico, — having  made  one  hun- 
dred miles  in  a  little  more  than  eighteen  hours.     The  horse,  I 

*■ 
regretted  to  find,  when  I  got  up  next  day,  had  died  during  the 

night ;  but  after  such  an  escape,  it  was  not  in  my  nature  to 
4ibink  of  slight  misfortunes. 

"  I  remained  at  Tampico  a  week,  when  I  took  passage  for 
Matamoras,  where  I  arrived  about  six  weeks  ago.  I  hastened 
from  thence  to  Monterey,  where  I  heard  of  your  return  home. 
Knowing  the  importance  of  my  testimony  to  you,  I  laid  the 
matter  at  once  before  General  Taylor,  tendered  my  resignation^ 
which  was  accepted,  and  started  home.  At  Matamoras,  as  I 
expected,  I -found  Catharina,  we  were  married,  and  here  I  am." 

"  So  I  see,"  said  Vernon,  with  a  smile.  *'  But  I  must  see 
Catharina — can  you  not  take  me  to  her  now  ?" 

"  By  all  me^ns,"  said  Hugh.  And  the  friends  set  out  for  the 
hotel  where  Hugh  had  taken  his  bride  on  his  return;  ashamed, 
perhaps,  of  his  father's  dingy  building  and  mean  furniture. 
We  will  not  pause  on  their  visit,  but  move  forward  to  another 
scene. 

A  large  party  was  assembled  in  Colonel  Talbot's  house.  All 
that  was  rich  in  costume  or  beautiful  in  form  and  feature, 
floated  here  in  the  excitement  and  flutter  of  a  crowd  met  for 
pleasure.  Many  were  here  whom  we  have  never  seen  in  the 
course  of  our  journey  through  this  book,  nay,  scarcely  any 
whom  we  have  seen,  could  now  be  found  in  all  that  crowd. 
Mary  Bryce  was  the  sole  representative  of  that  social  ciroto,  to 
which  we  fear  we  have  not  done  justice.  Several  months  had 
passed  away  since  the  death  of  her  cousin  Thorpe ;  and  though 


OOe    •  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 

some  scores  of  fainting  fits,  and  as  many  **  palpitations"  had  at- 
tested her  gnef,  it  was  remarked  that  she  never  lost  any  of  her 
fiesh,  and  never  allowed  her  mourning  to  interfere  with  her 
pleasures.  On  this  evening,  then,  she  was  in  high  spirits  and 
higher  dress ;  her  father's  few  months  in  the  service  having, 
(his  accounts  being  now  satisfactorily  adjusted,)  by  some  hocus 
pocus,  best  known  to  quartermasters  and  commissaries,  woi# 
derfully  recruited  his  finances.  Nor  was  she  in  the  least 
changed ;  her  voice  was  as  loud  and  her  manners  as  free  as 
ever ;  her  manoeuvres  to  attract  attention  as  transparent,  her 
dress  as  low  in  the  neck,  her  movements  as  fairy-like,  and  her 
Jiands  as  conspicuous  as  in  former  times.  She  endeavored 
always  to  be  near  Catharina — now  a  bride  of  some  months — 
because  about  her  was  generally  a  larger  crowd  than  in  any 
other  part  of  the  room.  The  beauty  and  grace  of  the  young 
Mexican  attracted  every  one ;  and  her  fascinations  were  by  no 
means  diminished  by  the  rumor — not  altogether  so  unfounded — 
that  she  had  brought  Hugh  a  magnificent  fortune.  Hugh  was 
proud  of  her,  though  there  was  none  of  that  uxorious  fond- 
ness too  often  exhibited  by  young  men  in  his  position.  The 
experience  acquired  in  a  few  months  of  campaigning,  had  given 
him  knowledge  of  the  wo^ld ;  and  his  intercourse  with  all  kinds 
of  people,  had  given  him  a  sort  of  polish,  which  sat  well  upon 
his  naturally  refined  character.  The  little  brusquerie  still  re- 
maining— inseparable  from  his  nature — gave  to  his  manners  a 
piquancy  and  relish,  not  possessed  by  any  of  those  who  prided 
themselves  upon  their  air  of  ton. 

£te  was  standing  in  a  quiet  corner  of  the  room,  talking  to 
Carlin;  while  Catharina  was  painfully  receiving  the  familiar 
attentions,  almost   carresses,  of    Mary   Bryce,  and    endeavor- 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  607 


ing  to  reply,  at  the  same  time,  to  the  profound  remarks  of  a 
tall,  black-whiskered  merchant,'  who  affected  the  exquisite 
gentleman.  Many,  who  saw  this  conjunction,  smiled  know- 
ingly ;  for  they  thought,  not  incorrectly,  that  Mr.  Jen- 
kins was  attracted  to  Catharina's  side,  as  much  by  the  pre- 
sence of  Mary,  as  by  the  beauty  of  the  bride.  Jenkins  was  a 
specimen  of  that  class  of  men  whose  fathers  rake  together  in 
a  lifetime  of  toil  enough  to  enable  their  sons  to  enter  mercan- 
tile bvsiness,  and  set  up  for  fine  gentlemen.  He  had  received 
some  two  or  three  thousand  dollars  from  the  family  estate ;  and, 
being  remarkably  penurious,  and  not  at  all  scrupulous,  had  gra- 
dually amassed  money  enough  to  niake  his  hand  an  object  .to 
young  ladies,  who  **  sell  themselves  to  unquietness**  for  gold. 
To  his  limited  wealth,  he  added  a  presumptuous  vanity,  which 
made  him  very  obtuse  to  the  frequent  rebuffs  to  which  his  vul- 
garity subjected  him.  A  little  affectation  of  polite  reading, 
and  the  most  abject  toadyism  to  those  above  him,  enabled  him 
to  secure  a  place  in  society ;  so  that  the  man,  who,  by  the  vul- 
garity of  his  origin,  and  the  stupidity  and  coarseness  of  his 
character,  was,  a  few  years  before,  infinitely  below  the  standard 
of  respectability,  had  now  become  almost  a  lion.  He  had  been 
with  the  army,  too,  in  the  character  of  a  sutler ;  and  his  extor* 
tions  and  manifold  villainies  had  given  him  no  small  accession 
of  fortune — ^his  success,  in  a  word,  had  given  him  impunity  for 
swindling.  When  he  returned,  he  had  at  once  attrae^ted  Mary 
Bryce's  attention-^that  young  lady  having  failed  in  her  blan- 
dishments on  Vernon — and  there  was  yet  sufficient  of  the  clod- 
pole  in  him  to  be  flattered  by  her  preference.  Among^Che 
men,  too,  she  was  considered  a  dashing  woman ;  and  being  in<« 
secure  of  his  own  social  footing,  Jenkins  felt  that  this  was  pre- 


308  TALBOT  AND  VERNON. 

cisely  the  wife  he  wantedl  Ue  was  not  penetrating  enough  to 
see,  that^  though  all  the  men  liked  to  be  with  her,  none  of 
them  respected  her ;  and  that  the  very  qualities  which  made 
her  attractive  to  them — her  license  of  manner,  and  her  illegi- 
timate affectation  of  child-like  confidence — would  make  her  a 
dangerous  and  trustless  wife.  He  had  been  pampered  and 
spoiled  by  lion-hunting  women;  and  she  thought  Ae  was  a 
prize.  They  were  thus,  at  the  period  of  which  we  speak— we 
were  about  to  say  betrothed ;  but  a  word  which  implies  •purity 
and  affection,  should  not  be  so  prostituted.  They  were,  then, 
'*  engaged  to  be  married'* — a  phrase  which  commits  us  to  no- 
thing— applicable  to  the  pure  and  the  impure  alike — and  suffi- 
ciently descriptive  of  a  compact,  founded  upon  vanity,  built  up 
by  indelicacy,  and  completed  in  folly. 

Colonel  Talbot  was  walking  uneasily  about  the  rooms,  speak- 
ing patronizingly  or  politely  to  all  his  guests,  and  evidently  im- 
patient for  the  consummation  of  something  for  which  he  was 
waiting.  This  was  true,  too,  of  all  the  company.  They 
stood  in  groups,  talking  in  broken  accents,  or  moved  unqnietly 
from  place  to  place.  Had  it  not  been  for  the  silks,  laces,  ribbons, 
scarfs,  and  other  trappings  of  a  party  of  pleasure,  one  might 
have  thought  them  assembled  for  a  funeral,  and  that  they  were 
now  awaiting  the  corpse.  Impatient  glances  were  every  mo- 
ment thrown  towards  the  door  opening  from  the  west  drawing- 
room,  which  the  reader  will  recollect  led  to  Cara's  rooms. '  At 
last  it  was  seen  to  open  slightly,  and  a  rush  was  made  for  the 
west  room.  The  crowd  ranged  themselves  closely  around  it, 
lea-wng  a  space  in  front  of  the  door  unoccupied,  except  by  a 
tall,  grave-looking  man  in  black,  who  folded  his  hands  and 
threw  his  eyes  to  the  ceiling,.    At  last  the  door  was  flung  open. 


TALBOT  AND  VERNOK.  -  'soe 


and  passing  through,  there  came  a'  company  of^  six  persons, 
"  two  and  two."  The  first  couple  were  Clayton  and  a  Miss 
Lurton — a  very  beautiful  woman,  whom  he  afterwards  married ; 
the  second  couple  the  reader  has  never  seen  ;  and  the  third  were 
Cara  and  Vernon  I  The  former  was  attired — I  chronicle  this 
for  the  benefit  of  my  fair  readers — in  a  dress  of  simple  white, 
made  of  the  richest  material,  however,  and  hanging  upon  her 
fairy-like  figure  with  all  the  grace  and  taste  of  picture-drapery. 
She  wore  but  two  ornaments — the  marriage  ring  and  a  wreath 
of  diamonds.  But  far  more  beautiful  than  any  diamond — hap- 
pier and  brighter  than  the  sparkle  of  any  jewel,  was  the  smile 
upon  her  lips.  She  turned  a  little  pale  as  she  entered  and 
saw  the  numberless  eyes  directed  at  her ;  but  she  looked  up 
into  Allen's  face  with  an  expression  of  confidence,  and  the  color 
returned  to  her  cheek.  She  pressed  close  to  him — he  took  her 
hand  in  his — and  they  were  married ! 

«*  There  is  one  thing,  Hugh,"  said  Carlin — they  were  still 
talking  together  while  the  guests  were  occupied  in  congratu- 
lating '*  the  happy  pair" — "  which  you  have  never  explained  to 
me ;  why  you  did  not  tell  Vernon  of  Thorpe's  forging  Talbot's 
name  as  soon  as  he  came  in.     I  could  never  understand  it." 

"  That's  very  easily  explained,"  said  Hugh.  "  I  was  anxious 
that  Vernon  should  go  with  us  to  Mexico ;  and  I  knew  that  he 
could  not  do  so  unless  he  effected  this  loan.  I  knew,  also,  that 
he  would  make  no  further  effort  to  do  so,  if  I  told  him ;  and 
I  foolishly  thought  that  I  could  tell  him  at  any  time, — soon 
enough  to  save  him  from  a  false  accusation.  The  note  was 
drawn  at  twelve  months,  and  I  always  intended  to  tell  him,  in 
time  to  send  him  home  before  its  maturity.     One  thing  after 


510'  m  TALBOT  AND  VER1K)N. 


■▼- 


another  prevemed  m]^  doing  so,  until  we  were  unfortunately 
separated  near  Buena  Vista,  and  came  near  not  meeting  again." 

"He  would  have  been  acquitted,  any  how,"  said  Carlin; 
"  though  in  some  minds  there  would  still  have  been  a  doubt." 

"  And  I  luckily  reached  home  in  time  to  clear  up  that  doubt," 
said  Hugh.  *'  It  has  taught  me  one  lesson,  at  all  events  :  that 
be  who  attempts  to  cover  any  iniquity,  even  for  a  moment,  and 
for  a  good  purpose,  k  doing  a  great  wrong." 

"  The  affair  has  not  been  profitless,  then,"  said  Cjayton,  ap- 
proaching them  with  Catharina  on  his  arm^  so  as  to  overhear 
the  last  sentence. 

'■  There  is  some  soul  of  goodness  in  things  evil, 
Would  men  observingly  distil  it  out.'  " 

"  I  dare  say,"  said  Carlin  to  Catharina,  "  you  think  there 
may  be  some  '  goodness'  come  out  of  even  so  great  an  evil  as 
war — I  know  my  friend  Manning  thinks  so." 

<««43rOod  to  individuals,  perhaps,"  she  said,-  in  those  musical 
tones,  thrilling  with  language,  beautifully  broken  but  perfectly 
pure,  "  as  to  me  from  this  war ;"  she  looked  at  Hugh  with  a 
glance  which  told  how  deep  was  her  sincerity ;  "  but  to  nations 
unmixed  evil." 

*'  That  is  the  only  subject  upon  which  we  have  any  conten- 
tion," said  Hugh  ;  ^*and  upon  that  I  fear  we  will  never  agree." 

"  Tf  there  is  danger  of  a  rupture,"  said  Clayton,  laughing, 
"  we  had  better  go  back."  And  they  turned  away  again,  the 
glance  between  Hugh  and  Catharina  as  they  did  so,  attesting 
how  groundless  was  the  fear  thus  jestingly  expressed. 

^*  I  am  afraid,"  said  Carlin,  as  they  passed  out  of  sight,  <'  that 
Miss  Bxyce  will  eat  the  bride  up,  let  us  go  to  her  rescue." 


\ 

t 

•     TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  »  611 


**  You  think,  then/'  said  Hugh,  with  ft  smil%  "  that  her  at- 
tentions  are  more  t;oracious  than  t;eracious  ?'' 

They  approached  Cara,  who  stood  happy  and  smiling  beside 
Allen,  quietly  receiving  the  congratulations,  some  sincere  and 
not  a  few  envious  and  spiteful,  of  the  assembled  company.  And 
here,  in  the  first  blush  of  blooming  womanhood,  let  us  leave 
her ;  with  this  further  chronicle,  however,  that  at  this  day  she 
is  as  lovely  and  as  loving,  as  beautiful  and'»'^as  happy,  as  upon 
that  evening  when  she  had  just  entered  the  garden  o^  life. 

Mary  Bryce  is  now  Mrs.  Jenkins ;  and  if  a  liberal  allowance 
of  fiesh,  9nd  great  apparent  spirits  are  any  indication,  she,  too, 
is  happy  in  her  wedlock.  Her  time  is  divided  between  ostenta- 
tious attentions  to,  and  proud  exhibitions  of,  a  very  fat  baby, 
(with  which  she  was  blessed  a  year  after  her  marriage,)  and 
many  demonstrations  of  interest  in  the  welfare  of  all  her 
friends.  This  interest  is,  by  the  said  friends,  not  very  extrava- 
gantly valued — but  it  is  probably  as  highly  valued  by  them,  as 
is  the  blessing  of  the  baby  by  her  husband.  For  Mary,  bfnng 
indispensable  in  all  conspicuous  places,  and  having  a  salutary 
horror  of  babies  in  public  assemblies,  devolves  upon  him  the 
duties  of  nurse — leaving  him  at  home  to  perform  these  pleasant 
functions,  while  she  blesses  the  world  at  large  with  the  plea- 
sures of  her  edifying  manners  and  conversation.  She  says 
*'  Cara  is  faded  I  O I  very  much  faded,  indeed .'"  But  her  eyes 
always  were  sharper  than  any  one's  else,  and  jn  this  case  no 
less  so.     For  the  signs  of  fading  are  visible  to  none  others. 

"  SheMl  be  saying  before  long,"  said  Hugh  Manning  to  Ver- 
non, "  that  Cara  leads  a  miserable  life  with  you — OI  most 
miserable  !*'  And  he  threw  up  his  hands  with  a  good  imitation 
of  Mary's  tragical  manner*     **  But  if  you  can  make  Cara  more 


512  ,  TALBOT  AtlD  VERNON. 

miserable  than  poor  deluded  f  enkios,  -etupid  as  he  is,  you  hsy^e 
powers  of  torture  far  above  what  I  suppose." 

**  What  has  become  of  Maria  Thorpe  ?"  asked  Alien,  willing 
to  ch&nge  the  subject — for  the  recollection  of  certain  unsu«cess- 
ful  blandishments  of  Mary  upon  himself,  furnished  what  to  an- 
other man  would  have  been  a  flattering  explanation  of  her 
gloomy  anticipations. 

'*  You  are  so  muah  engrossed  by  your  painting,"  said  Hugh, 
"  that  you  know  absolutely  nothing  of  what  goes  on  around 
you!  She  was  married  yesterday  morning  to  Major  Bryce, 
and  they  are  now  gone  on  their  bridal  tour  to  the  Sovih." 

"  When  do  you  go  South  yourself  ?" 

<<  Whenever  Catharina  is  ready,"  answered  Hugh.  «*  We 
want  to  reach  Monterey  by  the  first  of  December.  I  have  to 
settle  up  the  estate,  and  shall  then  return  home  to  stay.  I  have 
settled  up  my  father's  estate  a  month  ago.  When  I  get  this 
property  in  Monterey,  I  don't  know  what  I  shall  do  witb  it  all." 

*•_ Wealth  properly  used,"  said  Allen,  "is  a  blessing  to  the 
possessor  and  to  every  one  around  him." 

*'  What  have  you  and  Cara  determined  upon  about  going 
with  us  ?"  asked  Hugh,  after  a  pause. 

"  If  you  do  not  start  before  the  first  of  November  we  will 
go,"  answered  Allen. 

This  conversation  took  place  last  fall ,  and  now,  at  the  pre- 
sent writing,  they  are  all  spending  the  winter  in  Monterey. 
Colonel  Talbot  has  retired  from  business,  possessed  of  great 
wealth ;  and  has  setjtled  upon  Allen  and  his  daughter  an  income 
more  than  sufficient  for  all  their  wants — thus  enabling  Vernon 
to  realize  the  dream  of  his  life — to  pursue  his  art  with  the  en- 
thnaiasm  of  his  character,  and  the  success  of  every  man  of  true 


TALBOT  AND  VERNON.  613 


genius.  The  Colonel  is  a  contented  man  ;  though  his  manners 
are  sUll  a  little  dignified  and  pompous.  His  dignity,  indeed,  is 
ncA^er  unbent,  except  to  his  soil -in-law  and  daughter — and  even 
to  th^m  the  only  jest  ifi  wl^ieh  he  ever  indulges  is  upon  the 
happy  resuscitation  of  the  old  firm,  of  "  Talbot  and  Veenon," 


THE   END. 


f^f  B  1  8  1954